22 Sinchi
by Caracal22
Summary: When Admiral James Vega asks Miranda Lawson to respond to a distress call, she must choose between the commitments of her new life and duty to a reclusive ally. She, Jack Zero and krogan battlemaster Urdnot Grunt mount a rescue mission on an isolated asteroid. But what will they find? Set 23 years post-war. Miranda/Jack, Femshep/Liara, Vega/ Ashley, Tali'Zorah, Grunt
1. Chapter 1

**WRITER'S NOTE: Characters are not mine. I simply play with them for my own (and, hopefully, others') enjoyment. **

**Chapter 1**

In the twenty-three years since the Reaper War, Admiral James Vega could count the times he had been this worked up on the digits of a single hand. Anticipation slithered uneasily over his stomach and under his chest. It hadn't taken long to decide on his tactics, but even so, he found his fists clenching and jaw grinding as he waited for the vidcom to connect. It was middlewatch aboard the _SSV Damavand_ and - James had checked - a similar time aboard Quilla Station, though the cruiser and colonial habitat were at opposite ends of the spiral arm; he wasn't sure precisely what hours she kept when working at the Institute, but had gambled on being answered promptly. None of this could stop him from worrying his omnitool, calloused fingers absently keying the access code that had raised the alarm. Its orange glow blinked on and off in his dimmed quarters.

_Hope I'm not wrong banking on this_, James thought as he paced. _I've only seen them a couple of times since the Pulse - one time with my ass hanging out of a hospital gown. Back then they'd have saddled up and shipped out with no hesitation. Now - they're more domesticated. But I sure hope I'm right. I have no Plan B._

He had taken to pushing himself though a set of dips when the vidcomm pinged and a familiar face began to resolve himself onto the QEC. Popping himself upright, James assumed military posture as the woman crossed her arms and smiled a greeting. Despite the passing of two decades, the woman facing down the camera had barely changed, though the corners of her eyes were gently creased with laughter lines. He fought down his agitation, nodded hello.

"James Vega." The smile widened into a grin. "We have to stop meeting like this."

"Miranda. Sorry to call you this late - or early."

"I guess no-one told you - calls at oh-three-hundred won't make you a hit with the ladies. You needn't worry, though - I was late finishing a procedure. Just enjoying a nightcap, actually."

"That's good. I was afraid I'd catch you all grizzly. Dissolve the exotic Lawson mystique, you know."

James had never been quite as captivated as others seemed to be by Miranda Lawson. Her singleminded, almost psychopathic resolve chilled him from the start. He attributed this to the way they had first met. Within minutes of laying eyes on her, at Sanctuary during the darkest days of the war, she had hurled a family member to his death with clinical detachment. It was more disturbing to discover that calm masked a gut hatred that had never broken the surface. On the other hand, the protective zeal with which she protected the family members she actually liked was just as strong. And he needed that quality now.

Lawson rolled her eyes, her smirk widening. "Still a flirt, Vega. Twas ever thus. You're still aboard the _Damavand_, then?"

"_Si_. Kaidan's recently been assigned to the _Malakoff_. He's a Corporal now. Determined not to acknowledge my existence. And Jane's still studying - mass effect physics on Sur'Kesh. No idea where the clever came from. Not from me or Ash, that's for damn sure." James pushed back the unpleasant tendrils of memory that accompanied mention of that last name. "You?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Miranda replied. James silently observed the woman avert her gaze to smooth a crease from the shoulder of her lab jacket, waited.

"Francesca's dismayed by her total lack of biotic tendencies. I'm trying to coax her out of an obsession with the Maestros. Aside from the absence of head crests, it's just wishful thinking. Bashir, on the other hand, has just come back from training with the asari on Chalkhos. He's started as a teaching assistant at the Academy, planetside."

"With Jack?" James asked.

"Not directly. As the Principal, Jack has less hands on interaction with the students." Miranda's brow creased. "Unfortunately, that's increasingly a necessity more than a proactive decision on her part."

This was new to James. He didn't want to pry. But he hoped it wouldn't spike his plan. "I didn't know there was anything wrong."

Miranda shook her head and the apology away. "She's doing fine, considering. But while exchanging pleasantries with you is - well - nice, we digress. How can I help you?"

James involuntarily stood up a little straighter, rolling his shoulders to release the nervous energy building in his breast. He glanced down at his omnitool's haptic interface once again, then faced back to Miranda.

"It's not me that needs the help. But this could be something big, Miranda. Really big. An Alliance research vessel surveying the Teletskoye system picked up an encrypted message pinged from a QEC comm buoy approximately sixteen hours ago. The timestamp istwenty seven hours old. All decryption attempts failed, in spite of the big brains aboard. It was a quarian observer to the mission who finally hit paydirt." He had to squeeze his hands together to keep from waving his arms.

"Teletskoye's an unexplored system. Strange thing to find a comm buoy of any kind there. Was it a relic? Prothean or something else?" When Miranda's curiosity was piqued, her Australian twang resurfaced, James noticed.

"No. New. Sophisticated, _new_ tech. But it goes deeper. The message the quarian pulled was an artificially generated voice, untraceable. The real message was locked down tight. However, it made very clear that the real message could only be opened by a Normandy vet. They sent it straight to me."

"It sounds like an elaborate ruse, Vega."

"I agreed it sounded sussed, until I got it to open sesame. Here," James' thick fingers stabbed at his omnitool, "transmitting to you now. No idea how it works, just know it seems keyed to our DNA or...something."

Miranda accessed the file as soon as the transfer was complete. Seconds later, she shot a thunderstruck look at Vega as they both listened to the unmistakable, crisply enunciated contralto in silence.

"_... This is an automated distress signal intended for members of the Normandy SR1 and SR2. This is Liara T'Soni. If you are listening to this, know that this signal has been triggered by the compromise of my compound and broker network from external assault. My location is 22 Sinchi, in the Baikal system's outer asteroid belt. I need your help. I request armed assistance. I may not have survived an attack, but if this message has transmitted successfully it is almost certain my child is alive. Her name is Naya. Her location is 22 Sinchi. Please help her. T'Soni out."_

After a short pause, the message began a new loop. Miranda muted her omnitool, eyes closed. It struck James she was finding it difficult to pull enough air into her lungs. He watched her process the information as she groped behind her for something to lean against.

"Holy Christ, Vega. Holy. Fucking. Christ."

"I know. First anyone hears from her since Shepard's memorial. Personally, I thought she was probably dead. Sounds like she could be now. But the last part is a hell of a kicker."

"That's a bloody understatement. Does she mean - is it -"

James folded his arms. "- Shepard's kid? I don't see her making such a big ask unless it was. And having dropped off the face of the galaxy for the past twenty-something years, she wouldn't be _loca_ enough to gamble that we'd still feel any personal obligation to her."

"Actually, it also explains why she dropped off the grid when she did." Miranda was thoughtful. "Any Normandy spawn has it bad enough. Shepard's child would be perpetually endangered and constantly mobbed."

"Yeah. Now, Miranda" - she had vaulted over her initial shock quickly, and James could see her mind racing ahead, connecting the dots - "before you say anything else, I know that you have paid your dues to the Alliance. I know your family and the Institute need you. I know that. But we're _Normandy_ people. That asteroid is less than fourteen hours' FTL distance from Chasca. You and Jack are about the most deadly human biotics around, and you've had experience with damaged biotic kids. I don't know anyone better qualified than the pair of you to respond to this."

"And by sheer serendipity, we're in the neighbourhood," muttered Miranda. She raked a hand through her hair. "What about Ashley? Or the asari? Any asari?"

"Ash is on Council assignment in the Krogan DMZ. She's trying to broker a ceasefire between Clan Gochek secessionists, Clan Urdnot, and the asari worlds the Gocheks were stupid enough to invade. Inner Council Space is fubared right now. Ash and the asari are out of the running - not to mention on the wrong side of the galaxy."

"I get it. I'm the right girl, in the right place, at the right time. Great."

"I would ask you to sleep on it, but we both know this could be time-critical. I'm sorry, but I do need an answer from you." James replaced his hands behind his back. In response, Miranda squeezed her eyelids shut, and pressed her palms to both temples.

"We both know there's only one answer I can give. Of course I'll go. I'm not happy about this, though. Jack is going to throw a bloody fit. And I'll need some decent backup."

"You'll get it. I thought Jack would go with you."

"I'm not risking both of us getting killed at the same time. Under normal circumstances, Jack can only walk using a cane. She's mobility impaired and in near constant pain, despite what I do for her. There's no way I'd allow her to come."

A surge of relief washed over James as the reality of Miranda's cooperation sunk in. "Well, you're her physician. And she's your wife," he replied. "Your call."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

After cutting the vidcom, Miranda stood in the centre of the room, pinching the bridge of her nose between finger and thumb. Vega's instructions were to report to hangar bay 16 at 0730, giving her four hours to prepare. Objectively, this time was ample; instinctively, Miranda knew this would never be enough.

A disquieting combination of apprehension and anticipation roiled in her gut. To deal Jack in on the plan was absolutely out of the question. There was no way her pride, and obstinacy - and, yes, protectiveness - would allow her to agree to be left behind. Vega's idea to put them both into the field was facile, and utterly unconscionable given the risks. By the same token, it was more than likely Jack would find her deception unforgivable. And yet there was nothing to be done but go.

Miranda pushed the quandary aside by spurring her body into action. Her glass of wine sat untouched on a side table. She poured it away and replaced it with a glass of iced water. Exhaustion bled warm through her limbs, but her conversation with Vega had gunned her adrenaline. The idea of coffee curdled her stomach. Instead, she retrieved her towelling robe and stepped into a cool shower, lowering the temperature until gooseflesh rose on her limbs and her jaw clamped shut.

Quilla Station hung in geosynchronous orbit around Chasca's southern continent, over the hemisphere that basked permanently in sunlight. While the scorched continent below was uninhabitable desert and barren, shallow seas, Quilla's population of Alliance, corporates, scientists and convalescents enjoyed a more natural, warm climate than was typical for space installations. The station's architects had given it expansive public spaces, tropical biomes and broad expanses of glass looking out onto the planet's surface Quilla could be - and had been - mistaken for a resort. Miranda's own quarters had large windows and were among the few with panoramic private views down onto Chasca.

A substantial minority of Quilla's population had always been connected, directly or indirectly, with the Lawson Institute. It had been purely Alliance in the early days. After the Pulse, Miranda had cashed her only real bargaining chip, giving the military exclusive access to all the biomedical techniques pioneered via the Lazarus Project. The brass had relaxed a little in the past decade, allowing her Institute to spin off into the private sector - though the Alliance always came first. Treating civilian patients and licensing technologies had cemented her place in the top echelons of human wealth - surpassing even her father, though Miranda shot down the inevitable comparisons.

The shower had restored her to full alertness - and with it came a flush of nervous energy. Blotting her hair dry with a towel, Miranda crossed the floor of her bedroom and flung open her closet. She set her aged leather travelling bag, zip hanging open like a mouth, behind her on the bed. Around half of her time was spent at Quilla, with the other half - her downtime - with Jack and Francesca at the New Lima house. Consequently most of the clothing she kept on the station was for the boardroom, the lab or the operating theatre - meticulously categorised and compartmentalised. But not all of it. Miranda dressed quickly, in a compression bodysuit, form-fitting black leathers, and knee boots polished to a military shine. Additional garments were folded neatly into the bag.

_The last time I saw Liara must have been...right after Shepard's funeral. That empty coffin trundling down the pathetic path we cleared through the carcass of London, every inch of it draped with the flags of just about every race. Interred not in a church or cemetery, but underneath the ruin of the Mother of Parliaments. I have to say, T'Soni, that was touch of genius from you._

Miranda's throat tightened even now at the memory. At the time, suspicious Alliance eyes still followed her every move, despite her mortgaging herself to them - for Jack. She'd obtained leave to go to the funeral. Jack's injuries prevented her, but it hadn't stopped her from trying to rampage her way out of the facility. Two asari had been hastily dispatched to the hospital to help her subdue the human hurricane trying to break out. She remembered how soft Jack's new skin had been before it had once again been covered with ink; and recalled, more uncomfortably, the black eye Jack gave her for the ceremony.

The Battle for Earth was waged as autumn was deepening into winter; Shepard's memorial had taken place the following spring, when the ground had thawed. Ashley and Tali had flanked Liara in the ruins. Miranda was directly behind, in the second row. The magnitude of loss, the blinding, crushing pain, was put beyond Miranda's capacity to comprehend until much, much later. Not so Liara, who had looked lost and small, arms folded protectively around herself. She lost control only once, during Ashley's reading; a solitary, soul-shattering, terrible keen. Without pause, Miranda had wrapped her arm around her waist, and stepped forward to press her cheek to Liara's shoulder. Tali had craned to peer at her, surprised.

_She would have been pregnant then_, Miranda realised.

Liara had stopped by the hospital a few days later. Ostensibly, this had been for a checkup - which Liara deftly avoided - but Miranda had instinctively realised her intention was to be there for Jack. Since her failed attempt to discharge herself, the human woman had been withdrawn and broken, staring disconsolately out of the same window in her room at the mangled countryside surrounding the hospital. Whatever Liara said to her that day had lifted Jack's fugue. And the asari had left aboard the Cybaen days later, telling others she intended to help with the rebuilding efforts on Thessia. It has been several weeks before it dawned on the surviving _Normandy_ crew that while the Cybaen had eventually reached its destination, Liara had not. She had disembarked somewhere en route, and melted back into shadow.

_Liara returned Shepard. She let her do for the galaxy what she was brought back for. She resurrected the Crucible, and allowed Shepard to find some small measure of peace for herself before the inevitable. She returned Jack to me, and vanished. We're all in her debt. In time, Jack will just have to understand._

Miranda's armour locker was disguised behind a maintenance panel. She needed it infrequently these days, on occasions requiring a hardsuit for work in vacuum or dealing with the occasional security alert. Maintaining it in pristine condition was still second nature to her. Grabbing the stasis case from the recess first, she checked each piece for damage or deterioration before packing gauntlets, greaves, combat amp and omnitool, shoulder guards, and helmet into the proper places.

She retrieved her chestpiece last. Miranda handled it reverently, holding it up to catch the light. Like the other pieces, it was matte black and marked with numerous minor knicks and scratches. It was dated now, but unique and, for that reason, priceless. After the war, the Council had commissioned a customised set for each of Shepard's comrades in arms, every one engraved with a discreet Normandy emblem over the heart. Vega told her, during his heavy bone weave fitting, that its mere presence on an operation could change the outcome of an engagement. Better than Spectre status, Vega had quipped. Miranda brushed a thumb lightly over the emblem before stowing the piece with the others.

Placing bag and case by the door, a picture set at head height caught her attention. Being adopted, Bashir physically resembled neither of them, but was far closer to Jack in terms of temperament. With the exception of her blue eyes and thick eyebrows, Frankie took after Jack in terms of looks, but Miranda in personality.

_Four years ago. It had been a broiling hot day. Everyone dressed accordingly except for Jack, who had - naturally - insisted on wearing heavy black fatigues to the waterfall. After the picnic, she had grabbed Bashir and wrestled him into a biotically-reinforced headlock, both flaring blue. Five year-old Francesca was at the edge of the shot, arms crossed, scowling at her mom and grown-up brother from underneath a large sun-hat. She was feigning disinterest, but the jealousy was written on her face._

Her eyes suddenly hot, Miranda squeezed them shut, and swallowed back the burning tightness in her throat.

_I'm on a dangerous goose-chase mission for someone's else's kid. What will my own kids do if I'm not ok?_

Then, a rebuke to herself: _Shepard would have done the same._

Her resolve strengthened, Miranda removed the picture from its frame, folded it, and slotted it into her breast pocket.

The only option Miranda could see was to keep this from Jack, at least for now. _It's not any kind of plan, but I've no time._ Miranda stepped over to her VI console standing in the corner of the room, keying in her authorization codes on autopilot. A holographic representation of a human male resolved into the space beside her.

"Good morning, Ms Lawson. How may I be of service?" the figure asked, its even, expressionless voice sharply at odds with the way Miranda felt.

"I need transport to hangar bay 16 as soon as possible," she replied, voice unsteady. "I'll be leaving the station temporarily - a few days at most - so I'll also need you to work with Toby Deng and Callix to reschedule any appointments and procedures until further notice. Obioma can cover most of my surgeries."

"Transportation will arrive in approximately four minutes. Mr Elba is currently on leave, Ms Lawson."

"Damnit." She paused. "We'll have to reschedule that. He'll have to come back immediately."

"Of course. I'll liaise with them all at the start of the morning cycle. Will I be staying here?"

"Yes. I'm not likely to be contactable. I'll send you an itinerary for my trip from the docks. You can give this to Jack. And Miles - I'd like you to send this message, please. Begin dictation."_ Please, please forgive me, Jack_, she thought, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the twisting in her gut.

_Jack,_

_I've been asked for an urgent consult for some wealthy trader, out of system. I'm shipping out on the next Alliance cruiser, then I'll transfer onto something commercial at Riley Station._

_I should be a week, at most. Probably only a couple of days. But that means I'll miss the ring science trip we planned with Frankie. Maybe Bash can come with you instead? I really am sorry about this. I'll book some time off to make it up to you. Hope you're doing ok down there. Look after yourself, and Boy, and Girl._

_**- **__Miri_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Jack called bullshit.

At first, she simply glared at the message for several minutes.

_Do I look fucking stupid?_

Miranda's message pinged in the dead of the night cycle. Jack's omnitool was configured to alert her to any message from Miranda, whatever the hour. Jack knew Miranda knew this. So that had to mean Miranda was acting with haste.

_Does she think I came down in the last fucking shower?_

_She's up to something. What?_

Jack rubbed a hand over her face and pushed herself upright, swinging her legs gingerly over the side of the bed. It would get better; it was always worst in the morning. She reached for her cane, which was leaning against the end of the mattress, and heaved herself upright. She decided against getting dressed. Frankie was a heavy sleeper, for a non-biotic, and her black T-shirt and briefs covered everything up, anyway. Jack stretched to pop her spine, elbow and knee joints, then exited their bedroom, shuttered against the permanent twilight. She dismissed the idea of using the lift Miranda just installed between the ground and first floors, instead shuffling down each step one at a time.

_I'm not a damn cripple._

Sitting at her private terminal, Jack accessed her personal VI. A more basic model than Miranda's, but she didn't need all the crap Miranda had. A disembodied voice boomed a greeting.

"Volume - low. You wanna wake the whole street? Jesus." Blinking, Jack rubbed her close-cropped silver hair up from the back of her neck to her crown vigorously. "Blasto, connect to Miles."

"One moment please." Seconds later: "Miranda has left you an itinerary for her trip. Would you like to look at it?"

"Yeah. Bring it up." Jack scanned through the contents. _Whaddya know? My shit-ometer just went off the scale._

"Says here she's booked onto the cruiser _SSV Sydney_, departing at 0730 hours. At Riley Station, passage booked on civilian transport ship, _Eksapatao_, docking at Noveria at -" Jack calculated - "2300 hours GST. Does Miles have any more info?"

"Miles was told to expect Ms Lawson to be away for several days. Miles has no further information."

Blasto, is Miranda Lawson listed on the passenger or crew manifests for the_ SSV Sydney_?"

"Access denied. That information is Alliance classified, Ms Zero."

_Now for the ace in the hole. Pity it's one time only. Thanks, Traynor._ "Override code 3214090-theta," Jack responded.

"Override successful. Scanning now. No. Ms Lawson is not listed."

_Busted._ "Check for aliases Anna Baodoin, Ylva Petraeus, Helen Anderson. Any hits?"

"No matches, Ms Zero."

_So...proof she's lying._ Jack considered her next angle of attack. "Blasto. Any hotel bookings under any of those names on Quilla station?"

_If she's having an affair, I will rip her fucking heart out. And make her eat it._

"Negative."

_Okay_, Jack thought with relief. "Any activity on her credit accounts?"

Blasto was silent for a long moment. "Yes. Payment for transportation between her quarters in Inti District to Yaykuna District." The docks. "Payment processed thirty six minutes ago, Ms Zero. And she paid a generous tip."

She was getting closer; Jack could feel it. The thrill of the hunt pushed her lips apart into a rictus of a grin.

"Blasto, any idea of which ship she was headed for? Can you pull up a list of all departing vessels for the next four hours?" she asked.

"Eleven ships are scheduled to depart in the next four hours. Eight are civilian - the_ Almere, Ambergris, Doha, Firuzabad, Gellert, Napoca, Odin,_ and the _Ripley_. Two are Alliance - the cruiser _SSV Sydney_, and the frigate _SSV Malakoff_. The remaining ship is Turian Hierarchy."

"Ignore the Turian ship. Do you have information on destinations? Anywhere...interesting?"

"Of the civilian ships, two are bound for Earth, and one apiece to Elysium, Ilium, Therum, Ontarom, Kruban, and Omega. The _SSV Sydney_ is initially bound for Riley Station, after which it is travelling to the Local Cluster. The _SSV Malakoff_ is bound - one moment please. security clearance too low. Access denied."

_Damnit_. Well, somewhere was better than nowhere, Jack supposed.

Her instincts had rarely guided her wrong. Now they were screaming one word at her: _Malakoff_. But she had to be sure.

"So there are three ships heading back to Earth or Sol. She's not on the _Sydney_. Does she register on either of the other ships?"

"There are no records of Ms Lawson or any of her known aliases aboard the _Gellert_ or the _Ripley_."

Jack pursed her lips._ Is she going to Earth? She might have told me the Sydney and booked another ship. Easier to lose a tail at the other end that way. But she doesn't know I have these clearance codes. So maybe it's the type of boat, not where it's going._

Her grin widened.

"Blasto - I know you can't access current mission parameters, but what can you tell me about the _SSV Malakoff_?"

Jack could have sworn the VI sounded rather proud of itself as it narrated its findings.

"Ms Zero, the _SSV Malakoff_ is a Normandy-class frigate equipped for reconnaissance and stealth operations. She was launched three years ago, in 2206, under Captain Jon Pressly. Since then, the _Malakoff_ has been involved in the repulsion of Batarian slavers from the Shepard's Victory colony in the Hawking Eta cluster as well as evidence gathering about Clan Gocek military capacity in the Krogan DMZ. Its presence in the Aralakh system coincided with the infiltration and destruction of several Gocek military installations on Tuchanka and Durak."

Jack reflexively chewed a nail. _What is the stupid woman doing? Miranda hasn't seen actual combat - unless you call pistol-whipping privateers fighting - since eighty-six._

_She'd be a fucking liability on an - what the fuck is she doing on an Alliance op? Jesus fuck._ Her mouth went dry. _Has she been threatened? I've gotta stop this._

Hauling herself up from her seat, Jack moved as quickly as muscle and bone currently allowed her towards the bathroom, cane tapping a quick rhythm against the floor. "Blasto, call Charlie. I want him to bring the Academy shuttle round to Sanders Square for 0545. I'll see him there."

* * *

_Yippee-kay-fucking-yay. This witches' brew is some amazing shit,_ declared Jack to herself as she strode briskly down the the street toward Sanders Square. The cane twirled in one hand. _The comedown will make me a quadriplegic for days. Right now, though I could tear Kahlee's statue apart with my bare hands. I could tear Miranda apart with my bare hands._ She snorted.

Sanders Square was located in one of the busier quarters of New Lima, at the boundary between the city's CBD and the smart suburb of Cerro Alto. Jack, Miranda and Frankie had moved into a house there two years ago from the Principal's Quarters at Grissom Academy, where they had been based while Bashir had grown up. Miranda had reasoned that coming home to a school full of biotics, while attending a local non-biotic educational facility, was making her act out. She had been right.

Bashir had spent his first Grissom paycheck on a lease for an apartment fronting onto Vakarian Square, which itself backed onto the Academy. During the day - if it could be called day, since New Lima existed in the narrow belt between continual day and night on Chasca - the area buzzed with activity, with various shops and workshops at ground level drawing in visitors. Now, a few late-night partygoers were making their way home.

_Howdy, Kahlee._ Reaching the square, Jack crossed to the opposite corner through the small memorial garden at the centre, arriving at an unassuming door with several buzzers aligned on one wall. She pressed the top-most buzzer enthusiastically, several times in quick succession. Before long, a sleep-filled voice growled in reply.

"F'off. Now."

Jack barked out a laugh. "Get down here now, you big pyjak. Before I come up to get you."

A few seconds' pause, then:

"Mom? What time is -"

Jack cut across him, foot tapping compulsively. "You have one minute, Bash."

"Okay, okay. Hold on."

Jack heard a door hiss open, then an excited whoop from directly above. Bashir clambered over his balcony railing, then, wreathed in biotic charge, stepped off the balcony and dropped to the ground, dipping into a crouch. Straightening up to his full height, he mussed a hand over his beard and gave Jack a shit-eating grin.

"Impressive, huh?"

Jack presented nonchalance, but couldn't suppress a smirk spreading from the corner of her mouth.

"Nope. This is a low gravity world, jackass. You still nearly broke both your legs on the landing. Call yourself an adult?" She pulled him into a hug, leaning heavily, for effect, on her cane.

"That was just for effect," Bashir protested.

"It was great, kiddo," Jack conceded. "Those asari must have taught you all kinds of party tricks."

"Er, right." Bashir was appraising her quizzically, taking in the outsized rucksack and shit-kickers she was wearing. Jack realised she only had a short time before he started to question what was going on. She couldn't allow him to get that far before the shuttle arrived.

"Sorry, Bash, I gotta make this quick. Your mum has asked me to head up to the station. Don't know much about why just yet, but it shouldn't be for too long. Maybe a couple of days. Think it's Alliance business. Can you stay with Frankie until we get back?"

Bashir blinked at her, dark chocolate curls falling into his eyes. "Sure, no problem, I guess. Fine."

"Appreciate it - and I'll make sure we give you something for the trouble later." The young man shook his head half-heartedly.

"It's no trouble. She's my sister. I'll get over there now. I'll just have to -"

He looked back up at the balcony, and Jack understood. She swatted him affectionately on the arm.

"No details please, Bash. Frankie'll be awake in around half an hour, though, so quick would be good."

She watched him retreat back into the building, before retracing her path to the memorial. She glimpsed the shuttle rising over the back of the square.

_And now me and your mother are going to talk._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: This was profoundly difficult. All reviews and any constructive criticism very welcome. I just hope I've captured something believable. Please be aware, there's plenty of swearing, and some unpleasant physicality, in here. -Caracal_

**Chapter 4**

The airlock clamped shut, severing Miranda from the station. Relief lightened her heart: but she was once again exhausted. She had half-expected Jack to catch her up.

Everyone and everything aboard the _Malakoff_ was in its proper place, but she was no longer accustomed to the crush of people aboard a small frigate.

Permission to retire to the crew quarters was denied. The Captain insisted on giving Miranda the use of his personal cabin. His behaviour was impeccable, but he could not completely mask his simultaneous desire and dislike. It was understandable, if regrettable; Miranda had abandoned the elder Pressly to the void without a backward glance. It had been necessary. It was, would always be, the right decision.

Setting her bag and case down by the door, Miranda resolved to attempt rest while she had the opportunity. Sinchi was fourteen hours away, and the ops briefing would be another seven hours. Stims were only useful to a point, and running them together would simply store up problems for later. Of course, she was capable of operating under fatigue: but it would be rash, and unnecessary, to increase the risk of mistakes. Not entirely trusting Pressly to observe her request for privacy, Miranda loosened, but did not remove, her leathers before closing her eyes.

Time's usual metronome was set adrift. Dreaming, she was wrapped in Jack's forceful embrace, her full lips pressing at Miranda's neck.

* * *

Later, she was insensible to the quiet chime of the cabin door opening. Nimble steps aiming for the bed. In the midst of sleep, Miranda vaguely registered the mattress listing to one side.

A familiar, erratic rhythm began smacking against the cabin floor. Her heart stopped.

Jack was seated on the edge of the bed, back turned away from her, cane in hand.

_Oh, no._

She said nothing for a while, but when she spoke, Jack's voice was fast, low, dangerous. Incandescent.

"So I get this shitty email from you." Sarcasm bled into her tone. "And I'm worried. Why the night-time escape?"

The cane continued to pound a tattoo against the floor.

"I wonder: Is Miranda fucking someone else? Has she been blackmailed? Is the Alliance screwing with you?"

"No! No."

Jack sneered. "That's right. You were just catching forty winks here."

Miranda propelled herself out of her prone position to sit in the middle of the bed. Close enough to touch Jack. She knew better than to connect with the other woman's bare skin, given Jack's agitation, but she - carefully - stretched out to place her hand on the small of her back. For the briefest moment, Jack leaned into the touch, then jerked away.

"Fuck you."

Miranda started to explain. "Vega called me in the early hours of the morning. He sent me to the ship -"

" - He can't order you to do shit."

"Technically, he didn't. He asked me to fulfil a - duty, I suppose."

At this, Jack went rigid. The pounding ceased, but Jack's volume increased. "So your _other_ duties can go take a running jump? Duties like _your _daughter? Sounds like it."

"They're not mutually exclusive. It's not one or the other. You bloody well know what I'd do for _our_ children. That's unfair."

Miranda was stung. She sighed. She tried to be soothing. "Jack. I don't consider myself to have many duties. Work. Being a parent. Being a wife. This is another. This is important."

"Just _what_ is so important that you'd spin me some bullshit story," she twisted around to hold the older woman's gaze" - and then join up with a classified Alliance op?"

_Sooner or later this would have been necessary. My preference had been much later._ Miranda ducked her head and replayed the message. Liara. Naya. 22 Sinchi. Baikal. She let it run on twice before shutting it off. She watched Jack carefully.

Initially, the other woman was motionless; her face a blank. Miranda dared not move. She still dared to hope there was a chance that she might respond reasonably.

That was a mistake.

Fury contorted Jack's face into a mask of rage. With a scream of frustration, she surged to her feet, biotics igniting across her body with a harsh electric snap. She looked down at the cane she held loosely in one hand, before hurling it across the room, javelin-like, with as much physical force she could muster. It connected fatally with Pressly's private terminal, sending sparks exploding into the air.

"Jack - please try to understand -"

"You are a fucking controlling _bitch_!" Jack yelled. "You lied to me! _You_ shut me out of a message meant for _me_!"

Fists pumping, Jack stamped up the trajectory of her throw, and spun back around to face Miranda, bouncing menacingly on the balls of her feet. With a stab of concern, Miranda realised - how could she not have before now? - that Jack had self-medicated. She was high. Concern ebbed into a prickle of fear.

"I must look fucking _stupid_ to you. Shit, I must be." Jack jabbed a finger in her direction, stepped forward. Miranda snapped upright to stand by the bed, arms raised in a calming - and defensive - gesture. She schooled her face into a neutral expression.

"Shepard. Was important to me. Liara -" Jack swallowed, raked her nails across her scalp. Two more steps forward. "Why? _Why_, Miranda? You think I wouldn't care?"

"I didn't want you put in harm's way."

"Isn't that _my_ fucking choice? You're not my mother."

_No. I've done more for you than your jackal of a mother ever did._ "Stop being obtuse." Miranda was exasperated. She reached into the space ahead of her, the mnemonic snapping her biotics to life. Jack bared the sharps of her incisors in response, flaring a more brilliant blue. Another two steps forward.

"It's not a question of _wouldn't_, Jack," she retorted. "And you know it. It's that you _shouldn't_. It's obvious. You deny it; you try to ignore it. But your body is failing you. Your meds are supposed to give you respite, not restore what's gone. You know this, yet you've overdosed. You've left our bloody _daughter_. What happens if both of us are spaced?"

She glared back at Jack, challenging her to dispute her logic. She tried, unsuccessfully, to temper the urge to tip them both over the edge. She goaded. "If you hadn't blindly followed your hunter-killer instinct, you would know this. Clearly, I was wrong to think you had moved past that."

Jack recoiled.

You can't love anything you don't _control_," Jack spat.

Miranda snapped. "You have never stopped behaving like a child. I made the right decision. You're _not_ physically capable for this mission."

Jack leered. "Really?"

Miranda sensed the slap before she felt it. Jack did not put her biotics behind the strike, but the shock as their two fields collided violently sent a ripple of pain across her body.

She staggered sideways. Tears sprang into her eyes. The left side of her face burned.

Straightening back up, she knew the spell Jack had been under - had _both_ been under - was broken. Jack was anguished.

"Fuck."

"_Out_, Jack." Miranda's own biotics flared. "_Right_ now." The smaller woman spun on her heels and fled from the room. Once she was alone, Miranda discharged her own biotics uselessly, furiously, into the wall.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_Springtime. Earth. It's come late, but it's finally here. Jack has never heard real birdsong before. Spring is sending trees into bud, greening the land, concealing the scars etched into it by the War. Jack's back on her feet - just. She feels reborn. Resolute._

_The hospital is an old stately home. There are draughts, high ceilings. Old-fashioned doors. Jack shifts all her weight to one foot, swaps both crutches into one hand, knocks as boldly as she can. She's terrified._

_Miranda answers. Her hair is loose about her shoulders. (Jack's is being re-seeded.) The scar on her face shows. She smiles, slowly. Something low in Jack's belly swoops for the first time. Nothing's changed. Everything's changed. Miranda stands back to let her in, guides her onto the couch. Jack loses her bearings. She stutters, swears, apologises. Says Miranda needs to hear her out._

_Jack has seen the truth. She realises, now, this isn't pity, or obligation. She knows what Miranda has promised. No one has ever done this for Jack. Is doing to Jack what Miranda is doing right now, in this room. Their hands lace. Miranda tries to maintain distance, fails. The air is electric. Miranda is still hesitant until Jack kisses her: soft, insistent, perfect. Their lips part. Miranda's fingertips tenderly caress the back of Jack's neck._

_It's exactly what it looks like. No need for more words._

* * *

Jack took the emergency stairs three at a time. Low lighting in the stairwell meant she had to watch her feet. She raced past deck after deck, descending into the belly of the ship. Fleeing. She needed to put as much space as possible between her and what had just happened. Between her and Miranda.

Jack was furious. Jack was sorry. Miranda was out of order, but Jack was out of line. _Pushed all my buttons. Bitch got what she deserved. She's gone too far this time._

_Shit._

At the bottom of the stairwell, Jack crashed through the security doors into the frigate's shuttle hangar. The space was cavernous, dimly lit, deserted. She ran towards the darkest corner, on the opposite site. Melting into the blackness, Jack sat on a cargo box and pressed her knuckles into her eyes until she saw stars, dragging air into her burning lungs. She lost track of how time passed.

Jack had meant everything she said, and none of it. She still seethed at being lied to and treated like a child. Being controlled, decided for, like a meek little wife; it made her chest tighten with rage. And yet, for all she hated it, Miranda was acting as she always had and probably always would - to protect and care for Jack. That protectiveness was a sign of her love. Her logic was wrong, circular, flawless; and that made Jack hate it even more. But hating her high-handed bullshit was not the same as hating Miranda. Jack had argued this with herself many, many times; knew what her own conclusions would be. Jack began to shiver, though it was not cold.

_God, I hit her._

_She's right. I'm a bastard._ She thought back to the final part of their exchange with a rising sense of panic.

_Am I going to be forgiven this time?_ Jack didn't know. _Shit. Shit._

Jack was horrified by the idea of mingling with the crew now. They would probably look at her with pity or disgust. The mix of embarrassment and shame made her flush. Well, perhaps she would just stay here.

"Aaah. This really _is_ like old times." A gentle, penetrating bass resonated across the hangar. Jack craned her neck toward the figure strolling toward her.

"The Captain is pissed you trashed his cabin. Said I'd go find you. Told him you'd go to ground, find some dark little hidey hole somewhere. It's like history repeating itself."

"Grunt? Is that you?"

A huge, bulky figure resolved out of the shadow. What limited light there was glinted off ochre-coloured armour. He looked taller and more imposing than ever. Jack guessed this was likely to be his prominent silver head plate and distinguished back hump.

"The one and only. You look like crap."

She rose to meet him. Despite her turmoil, she was glad to see another familiar face. She shook out her limbs, rubbed her eyes.

"Screw you, Grunt. How are you doing? And - what are you doing here?"

The young krogan smacked his fists together. "My adversaries cowered before me. I crushed their skulls with my bare hands, and I took their females. I had younglings beyond number, and good enemies to fight. It was...magnificent." He shook his head.

Grunt's slightly sinister, deep laugh hung in the air. "And then Wrex gave me a diplomatic post in the Attican Traverse." He shook his head forlornly. "The injustice."

"That's rough."

"Well, he wouldn't trust any of the other klixen-spore to do it." He peered back toward the service elevator connecting the hangar to the rest of the ship.

"I got the message from Vega in the Kepler Verge. I joined the ship when it passed through the Newton relay. Shepard was my first battlemaster. She was like a mother to me. Figure that makes this kid my asari sister. Gotta look out for family, right?"

Grunt laughed again, but Jack thought he was mostly serious. "Yeah."

"Say - did you just try to kill Miranda? Thought you would have managed it by now."

Jack sighed. "She just - well. You know Miranda. Lost it for a second."

He nodded. "Don't know how you live with it. Control issues. Anyway. I was hungry. I know biotics get hungry. So I brought some food. Want some?"

Jack realised, surprised, that she was truly ravenous. She followed Grunt back toward the elevator, where an entire trolley was stacked with MRE cartons and heated sachets of steaming food. She unwrapped the nearest packet and began to shovel the contents into her mouth. It improved her mood immediately.

Between mouthfuls, Grunt explained his plan. "After we eat, I thought we could fight. You know, spar. Thought it would use up some of our excess energy cooped up in this tin can. You up for that?"

Jack nodded enthusiastically.

" Good. So, I hear you have a tank-bred?"

* * *

"Welcome to the medbay, ma'am." _A British accent_. The ship's doctor shook Miranda's hand formally. "I must say, your clinical reputation precedes you. It's an honour." She graciously accepted the compliment.

"Call me Miranda."

He nodded. "Then you must call me Michael. Michael Sellers." He was perhaps a decade younger than Miranda, with close cropped, sandy blond hair and an unassuming posture. He spoke in a rich baritone.

Taking in her surroundings, she noted the cool, soft lighting, and several immaculately-kept beds. They were lined up opposite a large window, looking into space. Red and blue stars shimmered outside. As she glanced over the room, she noted him discreetly appraising her.

"You have a good setup here. I've seen some simply horrendous Alliance medbays."

"And I've served in a great many," he agreed. "If I may ask - Miranda - when was the last time you slept?"

"Yesterday morning. Around," she calculated, "twenty eight hours ago."

"Not to put too fine a point upon it, but it shows. I presume any natural rest is out of the question? Even in here?" Miranda shook her head.

"Well, in that case I have some pick me ups that will see you through." Michael produced a hypospray, then set about locating the right ampoules. Miranda took a seat on the end of the nearest bed.

"What are you giving me?" she asked.

He scoffed. "Doctors are the worst patients. Mainly Ochutrene and Altazene for alertness, and a touch of Vennex for focus. I believe at least one of those is your own invention. Ah! Here we are." The younger doctor finished loading the hypospray, and stepped in towards her. "I presume your carotid is fine?"

The effect was almost instantaneous. It was as though a fog had been lifted from Miranda's perception - one she had not been aware had settled over her. She thought it had simply been the fallout from her fight with Jack. _Which will be dealt with later._ Her limbs felt lighter; her mind was clear. She stretched her arms about her head appreciatively.

"Better?"

"Much. Thanks."

He handed her the hypospray and a blister pack. "You can repeat the dose every four hours for up to thirty-six hours, but it's not recommended past thirty."

Michael glanced over Miranda's shoulder at the door, which hissed open. A tall, indigo-coloured asari entered, walking the length of the medbay to the two humans. The markings on her face and crest were an even deeper violet. Her bearing was patrician, but her face was open and warm as she waved a greeting.

"And here she is. Miranda Lawson, meet Lieutenant Jeyda Gregor. She's one of the Alliance's finest battlefield medics." They shook hands.

_She doesn't carry herself like a maiden_, Miranda thought. _Bet she's intimidatingly old._

"I'm sorry to have kept you - though it looks like Sellers has already taken the opportunity to give you a once over." Jeyda smiled. "'I'll be on beta squad for the mission. So it's good to meet you beforehand, anyway." Miranda was surprised that Jeyda spoke American English without a translator.

Michael returned to sit behind his desk, clasping his hands in front of him. "Your foresight is appreciated, Miranda. This was a very sensible idea. From a practical perspective, this medical facility should be able to deal with practically anything that rock can throw at us. Bearing in mind the composition of the fire teams, we've made several adaptations to accommodate -" he frowned - "various physiologies, though I am no specialist on secondary and tertiary biological systems. We should at least be able to keep individual patients stable until we return to civilization."

"Good. How are you set up for biotics?" Miranda asked, crossing her arms.

Jeyda gestured to a bank of equipment hanging from a far wall. Her voice was quiet, wry. "The _Malakoff_ has several commissioned asari, not just me. That means we have top-of-the-line biotic monitoring, treatment and restraining equipment, should it be necessary."

"That's helpful. I'd like to review what you have."

"Are you experiencing any problems?" The doctor was curious.

"No. Not for me. Jack Zero has a unique clinical history and...complex medical needs," Miranda explained. She suppressed the anger and tenderness that bubbled up, unbidden. "Post mission, she's likely to require short-term artificial field suppression and modulation, as well as eezo nodule stabilisation. She'll be in very bad shape until we can get her into rehabilitative therapy." _And even that might not help her now._

Michael rubbed his chin contemplatively."We definitely have field manipulation equipment. Nodule stabilisation might be possible. You shall have free access to anything in the medbay if you need it."

Miranda nodded. "Greatly appreciated."

"Jack's the third member of alpha team?" Jeyda queried. "The one laying waste to the shuttle hangar with the battlemaster? Is she - well - fit for the mission?"

"She will be physically capable, yes. I've been treating her at the Institute for many years. Her biotics are formidable, but they're destabilising. If it gets hot, the combat will inflict permanent damage to her nervous system."

Michael removed a packet of empty ampoules from his desk. "Is there anything Jack needs, medically, pre-mission?"

"I really wouldn't recommend approaching her at all if you value all your extremities, doctor. She's on an experimental regimen. I have extra measures of that with me to top her up until we reach the other side." _Carrying Jack's meds is automatic for me now_. "The after-effects are, unfortunately, severe when over-dosed - as she has done."

The asari fixed Miranda with a thoughtful glance. "You've pioneered many therapeutic treatments for biotics. Helped a lot of people. So Jack's - sort of your lab rat?"

Miranda inhaled sharply. "No. Of course not."

Jeyda backpedalled. "Just a throwaway phrase. No offence intended. Sorry." She brushed Miranda's shoulder lightly with her hand.

"None taken."

Michael changed the subject. "Right. Well, in that case, let's talk about our pickup. That's way outside my area of expertise. That's why I thought Jeyda could help."

"I have a few kids of my own. And I've spent more time than many asari living among humans - about forty years. I'm familiar with infants of both species. Human bondmate."

"The youngest asari I've ever met was around a hundred," Miranda confessed. "I'm pretty much clueless. I have no idea what to expect."

"There are more asari kids growing up outside asari space now, but the gap in your knowledge isn't surprising. There are reasons our young are traditionally quite cloistered. How old is she?"

"I'm not exactly sure. But I assume conception took place in mid 2186, making her around twenty one, if an asari pregnancy takes two years." Miranda continued. "My own son is in his twenties. I'm presuming that's where the similarity will end."

"Absolutely right." Jeyda confirmed, selecting a holo from her omnitool. A picture resolved before them. It was from clearly another era - the fashions were outlandish - but captured a small asari, shrieking with glee, sitting atop an elderly salarian's shoulders. She was holding on, apparently painfully, to his head-crests.

"My eldest daughter, Lelya, and her father, Ujarak. Lelya is twenty two here."

Miranda scrutinised the holo. "She resembles a human of around - four or five years old."

"Yes. The pace of development isn't quite parallel, but in the beginning a good rule of thumb is to divide by four. Every year of development in a human infant will take four for an asari. It's a good thing we're generally a patient race."

Miranda raised her eyebrows. "I was expecting an adolescent."

"Onset generally happens around forty-five to fifty. For the Sinchi girl, that'll arrive around 2230."

Miranda nodded. "And what about her biotics?"

"She'll only have very mild abilities. Nothing to really cause an issue. They're involuntary. Normally impossible to train and condition until they manifest properly at puberty. I'm not sure we'd ever have crawled out of the ocean on Thessia otherwise." Jeyda smirked. "Can you imagine? Baby's first singularity - very possibly her last, too."

"How old is your daughter now?" asked Miranda.

"Good ask. That one's hitting the four hundred mark, I think." Jeyda keyed her omnitool, and the picture disappeared. "I have two others. And a human stepson."

"Is he also biotic?"

"Oh, no. But I think that's a blessing. I've heard biotic abilities can foreshorten human lifespans. That's unfortunate. It's different for asari. We tend to see it as not dissimilar to the human concept of _qi_. By cultivating and tempering it, we can vastly extend our life spans."

Miranda thought of Jack. Her eyes unfocused. _How long does she have left? Two years? Twenty years? How many will she have left when this is over?_

Jeyda clamped a hand over her mouth. "Miranda, I'm so sorry. I think I've come down with a dangerous strain of foot in mouth syndrome. Jack is your bondmate." It wasn't a question. "Look. Can I get you a cup of coffee to apologise? I have more to tell you, and it beats hanging around in the medbay."

_I'd like that_. Miranda agreed.

_A/N: So a slightly longer, less angsty chapter. Hope you enjoy it. Not long until Sinchi now. - Caracal._

_ps. Thanks for all the reviews and messages so far - really appreciate every one.._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The armoury was a separate room next to the shuttle hangar, all glinting clean metal and sharp angles. Now, it bustled with activity as alpha and beta squads tooled up, split into three pairs. The room was suffused with light, but it was impossible to pinpoint the source - it seemed to pour from the walls and floor of the room itself. Precision was critical; any mistakes would be paid for in blood.

And, of course, there were guns. Lots of guns.

To begin with, Grunt had resisted being Wrex's errand boy in the Traverse. He deeply resented it. There was much less fighting. But there were a few good things about being outside krogan space. A krogan was much more likely to come across asari. Grunt liked asari. He also liked female krogan, naturally, but they were rarer than thresher maw teeth off-world. _And a boy has needs. Heh._ Grunt actually had a particular weakness for exotic looking ones, which the one in front of him definitely was. She was every shade of purple.

Grunt _liked_ purple.

Breaking out his most dashing grin, he strode over and thrust out his arm in greeting. His bass voice reverberated in the cramped space of the armoury.

"Can I be of any assistance, Miss -"

" - Miss? Well, it's been a _long_ time since I've been called that. Gregor. Jeyda Gregor." She took his proffered claw. "Actually, I could really do with some help checking these suit seals. And you must be -"

"My name's Grunt." He stooped over carefully to check the seals on her neck and wrists. "You look good."

_Down, boy._

Jeyda appeared to miss Grunt's embarrassment. Perhaps she was just humouring him. "In that case, could you pass me that chest and backplate? Right behind you." She adjusted the fittings with practiced ease. "I would offer to give you a look over, but you seem fixed up just fine."

"Heh. Shepard once asked if I was sewn into my armour. Stupid human. But I guess it could look that way. I've only taken it off three times this year." Grunt was proud, but Jeyda looked faintly disgusted.

Grunt shrugged. "What? A krogan must always be ready. And I'm - you know - kind of a big deal. On Tuchanka." _You're some kind of fool, boy._

Jeyda looked like she was suppressing a belly laugh. "Right. How nice for you." She snapped the clasps on her greaves.

"I'm sorry. Can I just start again?" He peered around himself conspiratorially. "Really, I just don't have many other clothes. For some reason, I don't get asked to fancy events very much. Can't think why."

"Jeyda chortled. "You liar. You're Urdnot Wrex's _krantt_. Yes, I know what that is," she said, waving away Grunt's surprise. "Or did you think this was my first rodeo?"

Grunt was speechless. "Well, you look very... youthful." _I like this asari._ "What's a rodeo?"

"Lots of fun. Fill you in later. And I'm flattered - but that really isn't true." She reached to the back of her head to check her amp. "So, you knew Shepard?"

"Yeah. Went with her to the Collector base. Killed a thresher maw together."

Grunt thought about the tank. "You could say she birthed me. Certainly raised me. Got me out of a few tight places until I found my feet with my own kind. She was a great human. But at times, very stupid."

"Interesting. You don't look young enough to have been fostered by a human."

"I'm a tank bred." He paused. "Now I think about it, there any fortification fluid in here? This old thing could do with another coat."

"Sure." She passed the solution to him. He began painting his helmet. "You know our other two vets well, then?" Jeyda asked.

"They're clan, but I wouldn't say I still know them well. Haven't seen them in years. Miranda always had a stick up her ass. Looks like no change there. Jack I still have a lot of time for."

The asari smirked. "We noticed. I don't think our hangar bay will ever be quite the same." She smiled. Grunt grinned back.

* * *

"You know, I do believe Grunt is trying to hit on the Lieutenant." Kaidan was bent over his boots, but jerked his head in their general direction.

Commander Marshall frowned. "At least he's being helpful at the same time. Here, check my bindings, Corporal." The younger man straightened, then moved his hands over each clasp quickly, mechanically. Despite his muscular build, he was surprisingly dexterous. In seconds, he was finished. "Thanks."

Marshall checked the sight on his pistol. "Your family know these guys?"

"Not really. They were both Alliance. These guys weren't - at least, not at the time. But they all served with Shepard, so they all have something in common." Kaidan snapped his shotgun to his back, stretched to replace the case back in an overhead locker. "And a weird way of helping each other out."

"You ever meet them before?"

Kaidan checked the fastenings under his arms for fit, loosened one. He looked at the krogan clumsily painting clear fort fluid over his helmet, and was abruptly reminded that comparisons made by others between him and the krogan were not all complimentary. "I met Lawson once before. My Dad had some procedures done at the Institute. Went to visit him. I would've been about fourteen, fifteen. She wouldn't remember me, though."

Actually, Kaidan wasn't so sure about that. He hoped it was true. He'd been sat with his sister at his father's bedside when she had walked in. He remembered being mystified at his dad's coolness towards her; he had been captivated. Couldn't peel his eyes off her. He had been so horrified and embarrassed he had stuttered out something about leaving something in his quarters and thundered out. His sister's derisive snort had followed him out of the room. To this day, he still had a thing for older women of a certain type. The thought of that selfsame woman about to get changed in front of him was making him feel a little... _unsettled_, even eight years later. He strenuously refused the temptation to look.

Unfortunately, Marshall had picked up on the undercurrent. "You know she's married to that woman, right?" Kaidan glanced over at the second woman, presently clad in nothing but underwear. She had close cropped silver hair, maybe a half inch long, with patterns cut into the scalp. She was athletically built, like a marine, and covered from neck to feet in tattoos. He recognised a Normandy emblem among them, like his father's. He began to recite multiplication tables in his head.

"Believe it or not, sir, I'm not a history buff. I don't keep tabs on all my parent's old acquaintances." He ran a hand along his scalp. His brown hair was cut high and tight.

Marshall shrugged. "Well, I think they're kind of hot."

Kaidan rolled his eyes. "I don't." He lowered his voice. "That woman is _marimacho_."

"If you think that's butch, you've never been to the right sort of bar." The Commander nudged Kaidan's shoulder. "C'mon, I'm just playing with you. And I'm curious, Vega. I mean, you're a Normandy kid. Lawson and Zero got kids. We're on a kick-bollocks-scramble rescue mission for another one. Bet they'd do the same for you."

Kaidan snorted. "No way."

"You're a big boy now. But look how quickly these guys dropped everything. Sure they would."

"Well, that's ridiculous. I wouldn't want them to. Just want to be my own man, Commander." Kaidan was beginning to get vexed. He slung an assault rifle over his back.

"And you are. You're a great soldier. But a name like yours? There'll always be a mark against it." Marshall loaded extra thermal clips into the outsized pockets on his thighs. "Pointless fighting it."

"With all due respect, Sir, that's easy for you to say." Surly, he turned his back on Marshall and retrieved his helmet. Marshall correctly surmised this was the right time to back off.

"You know I met Shepard once?"

Kaidan sighed. _Do you have any idea how people love to tell me that?_ "Nope."

Marshall clearly wanted to share. "Yeah. I was living in Joughin when war broke out. I was nine. Benning was attacked. I was cowering behind a dumpster, Shepard sees me, grabs me, hoists me over her shoulder, sprints to the extraction point, throws me into her shuttle. Like a whirlwind."

Kaidan met Marshall's eyes. They were hard. "There are countless stories like that, Corporal. It's nothing special. I know. But it made me want to be a marine." He pulled his helmet over his head. "Let's go get Shepard's kid."

* * *

Unlike the others, the last two occupants of the armoury were silent. They were preparing back to back, eyes fixed on opposite walls. Miranda normally detested the kind of noise and banter carrying on around her. Today it was a blessing, a wall of white noise. She sensed the curiosity of the other people in the room, but she was grateful for the space they were being given to do their own thing. She was glad the atmosphere between her and Jack was not poisoning the spirit of the mission. The room was filled with anticipation, excitement.

Miranda removed her leathers piece by piece, starting with her boots, which she placed neatly underneath a bench. Pants were removed next, then jacket. She was left standing in her clinging black compression suit, worn to improve muscular and biotic endurance. Noting the appreciative sideways glance she received from Commander Marshall, she could nonetheless feel Jack at her back. The spar had been good for her. Evidently she had been knocked onto her arse a few times. _Good_. She had cooled down, become calm. Sober.

Jack did not wear her compression suit. She had clearly forgotten it. In other circumstances Miranda would have requested a spare - Jeyda would undoubtedly have one. This time, she did not. She bit down on her exasperation. Instead, Jack stepped straight into her heavy fabric underlayer, shrugging the one-piece over her shoulders and adjusting the seals. She returned to her rucksack and began pulling out haphazard other pieces.

"Wait."

Jack froze. Then spun around. Her eyes were questioning, hopeful. Miranda stood close enough to touch, an arms' length away.

"You need another dose. I need to check you to determine the right level."

Jack met Miranda's gaze for the first time since their argument. Tried some bluster. "So you do still care."

Miranda levelled a scathing gaze at Jack. "Shut up. Without it you'll go into a coma on the bloody mission. You took a life threatening amount this morning. Stand still."

If Jack intended to resist, there was no outward sign of it as Miranda reached up to feel the eezo nodules on the underside of her jaw. Her touch was assured, gentle. Jack blinked rapidly. The effect was of batting her eyelids. Miranda's heartbeat quickened. _Ridiculous. Stop it._

"Arms out." Jack complied instantly.

Miranda unzipped Jack from neck to navel, reaching inside to check carefully under her armpits, diaphragm, sternum. Jack's body was taut. Her eyes were closed. Miranda could feel slow, steady breaths fall on her neck. Salt crystals from Jack's sparring session with Grunt had dried onto the planes of her abdomen. Miranda fought the urge to collect this on her fingers. She reminded herself she was still angry. She reminded herself they were in public. _Clinical demeanor non-negotiable_. Kneeling, she pressed the pads of her thumbs into either side of Jack's groin through the suit. Jack, suddenly self-conscious, ran the zipper back up her chest.

Jack's remembered scent unravelled her. She involuntarily recalled this ritual in other times, and other places. Helping one another into their armour had become reflexive, intimate. Foreplay. Hands lingering over hot skin, fingers tightening and releasing ties and bindings; slow, sensual, knowing. A devotion. It was a ritual that Miranda often ached for during her time alone at the station, and one she often made excuses to involve herself in when she was at the house and Jack needed to suit up. It was an offering to Jack, one they knew the other enjoyed almost as much as stripping Jack's armour away after heavy exertion. The urge to continue with it was strong. Miranda resisted.

She came back to herself. A few moments felt to her like an age. She had not intended to stay on her knees this long. Jack was now barely breathing at all. Miranda felt a hand come to the back of her head, cradling it. The briefest touch. Then it was gone. Miranda straightened up. Jack could not meet her eyes.

"The nodes on your left side are feeling swollen. Nothing to worry about while we're on the mission. But you should favour mnemonics from your right side, if you can."

Jack nodded. Her eyes stayed glued to the floor.

"_Miri_. I - I'm -"

"I know. As am I. For what it's worth." She returned to her bag for the hypospray.

Jack wrung her hands together. "I didn't mean the things I said."

"Yes, you did. Even if you now regret them."

She met Miranda's eyes. Earnestly. Fearfully.

"Are we okay?"

Miranda exhaled deeply. "I don't know, Jack. We have to talk. But not now. We have to focus on the mission."

"Yeah. Okay." Jack shrunk, shoulders dipped.

"But," Miranda allowed herself to graze Jack's wrist with the back of her hand, "promise me you won't do something stupid out there, and I'll promise to do the same."

When Jack turned back for her breastplate, she was smiling.

Grunt, observing his friend from the other end of the room, rolled his eyes. But he was relieved.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_Miranda hears a sputter of radio report between bursts of static. She barges onto the next outbound shuttle before anyone can object. When she asks herself why, she gets no answer. She is mute when Ashley Williams, strap-hanging by the vidcom, demands an explanation. They despise one another. Today they put animosities aside. Her exhaustion is absolute. Like everyone else, Miranda is on autopilot. Adrenaline and pure instinct have replaced conscious thought._

_This is a new world, the one that Shepard has made; later they will make it good but now all continue to exist in primordial chaos. The old world is dying, giving birth to the new. It is lethal and beautiful._

_Why is she on this shuttle? Her subconscious connects the dots. The answer is the same as to another question, unvoiced, lost beyond thought._

_Miranda has been treating the wounded. The cruel reality is that most will die anyway, though the Pulse has ended the war. She is covered with gore and bodily fluids. Their odour rises in the heat of the shuttle. Others notice it but hardly care. Williams asks if Miranda knows who they are going out for. She does. It confuses them both. Miranda more than Ashley._

_Panicked shouts spill from the vidcom. Jack is buried. One side of a building was collapsing and Jack has pulled the lot down onto her to save the kids. Six stories of solid stone. Her kids are screaming. Mostly, Miranda feels numb: as if a maelstrom of emotion is silenced behind glass._

_She thinks of Jack. The Omega 4 mission changed her. No; that isn't true. They changed one another. More than the mission ever did. By the end, Miranda became a person for Jack, not a vessel for her hate. As Jack healed, she absolved Miranda of responsibility, released her rage and pain; and in that act, Jack set the millstone of conscience around Miranda's neck._

_Jack's suffering is a mirror. Miranda has held it up to herself and seen reflected back only her own ruthlessness, inhumanity and malice. She is grotesque. The realisation is almost too hard to bear. But intrinsic to this revelation is the possibility of change. Miranda takes hope, continues to hold up the mirror. Gradually, the reflection changes. Carrying the weight of Jack's suffering is transformative, good._

_Miranda is half dead herself but she leaps from the shuttle, ahead of everyone else. Heavy rain is falling. Hard soil has commuted to mud. The students are sobbing, sirens are blaring but the world is silent as she takes in the field of rubble and jagged metal before her. Later, others tell her they saw her do something miraculous. But it isn't her; isn't conscious. Miranda watches herself as her biotics flare blue, then silver. The entire collapse - pebbles, cobbles, boulders, entire slabs - heaves, lifts, is deposited harmlessly all around. One rock falls, slashes her face. It will scar. Physically, she feels nothing. Ashley stares at Miranda, wide-eyed._

_She looks inside herself, to the place she reserves for her guilt. The millstone has disappeared. Her conscience is salved. Abruptly, she realises she cleaved to it because it meant holding on to part of Jack. But it has weathered away. In its place there is a new thing. Precious. Good. Wonderful._

_Miranda's biotics fade. Others rush forward, past her. To Jack. Her broken body is small in the rubble. It is still, blackened with mixed dirt and blood. Jack is dying. If she does, Miranda will be lost. She cannot a contemplate a world without Jack. Because -_

_Three simple words. Beyond the limit of her endurance, bleeding in the dark and the driving rain: in that moment, Miranda knows the answer._

* * *

The horizon all around Jack was empty black space. They had landed on the daylit side of the asteroid, so there were no stars. The sky hung blank and limitless over an expanse of barren grey rock, pockmarked with thousands of craters. In the wan blue light cast by a distant sun, the asteroid was as remote and desolate to her as anywhere she had ever been.

Jack had been to, even lived in, some shitty places. But something about Sinchi felt off. It felt like creeping through an emptied stage set. It felt dead.

Their destination was half a klick straight ahead. Jack and Grunt were eager to crack some heads and had wanted to land right on top. Miranda had sensibly argued for a shuttle drop aways back from the target. They were operating at a disadvantage, with no useful intel on the building or what was inside. Even the building they were walking towards had been sight-spotted from the _Manzikoff_. Something about the asteroid - or the Shadow Broker's famous technological prowess - fucked all their sophisticated scanning equipment. Sinchi wrapped a shroud of silence around itself and anyone else who came near.

Grunt complained all the way down to the surface like a sullen child, but Jack grudgingly saw Miranda was right. Mainly, Jack itched to get inside that building so she could take her fucking helmet off. Working in vacuum freaked her the hell out. _One puncture and your body turns itself inside out through the hole_. She was on edge from the moment her boots hit solid rock.

Miranda clenched her right fist at her shoulder - _halt_ - and sank down until she lay flat. They had reached the lip of the crater. Jack joined her and together, they crawled forward on their bellies to survey what lay beyond. Grunt hung back, aware his bulk would make them target practice for anyone below.

Jack peered over into the hole. It was open to the sky but deep and narrow, more like a crevice. _Something to crawl into_. The rim was twenty feet of sheer vertical rock, tapering into a steep slope covered with loose gravel and scree. _It's low gravity,_ she thought, _so you figure you can jump the cliff. You miss your footing - or slip on the rocks - fall. You'd be dead before you reach the bottom._

The word _trap_ welled up in Jack's mind before she could push it away. Her skin was suddenly cool in her suit.

Miranda turned to her, armour floured with a covering of chalky dust. "No guards posted. Building's barely the size of two parked hovercars." Despite speaking into her suit's internal comm, she still whispered. "The facility must be underground. This is only the entrance."

Jack's mouth was dry. She tried to swallow but couldn't. The building was the same grey as the rocks. It looked like a plug. The idea of swirling away down this particular drain was making her skin crawl. _Fucking pussy_. She made herself reply casually, at full volume.

"So far, so simple. But look." Jack gestured at a number of large black smudges marring the sides of the crater. "Scorch marks. Too big for small weapons fire. I'm thinking turrets, rocket turrets."

"Yeah." Grunt's curiosity had got the better of him and his huge head now hung over the side. "I'd say big enough to take out a squishy in one hit."

"We don't know if they're still active, though. Or how old those marks are." Miranda propped herself on her elbows. "If there were any active turrets around the rim, we'd probably have encountered one by now. That means any remaining turrets will be at the centre, pointing out." All three jerked away from the edge.

Orange reflected across Miranda's visor as she gunned her omnitool. She knocked on the side of her helmet in frustration. "Got to be another sixty feet closer before my tech's in range of the building. And we've got to get to the damn building to activate the cracker program for the door." The sigh she breathed into her helmet was tired, impatient.

Jack inched closer to the rim again. Something instinctive still prickled at the back of her mind, unnerved her, but now she had problem to solve it had to take a back seat. The germ of an idea had planted itself in her mind. _Yes, it's really there_. She rolled onto her back, sat up, beckoned her two squadmates closer.

"I've got an idea."

* * *

"Locked and and loaded, Jack. Let's go."

If Grunt had any misgivings about this place, or the plan, he showed no sign. He was juiced, ready to fight. Jack could make him out on the other side of the crater at her twelve o'clock, practically writhing in anticipation. Miranda was on her nine, silent, in their original spot. _Bitch doesn't like it, but there's no better plan._ A wave of adrenaline broke over Jack, and she finally jumped to her feet, making herself as large a target as possible. She waved her shotgun recklessly over her head. Miranda wouldn't - or couldn't - look.

The adult part of Jack knew sound didn't travel through vacuum, and in any case, shouting at inanimate weaponry was useless, but she roared anyway.

"Hey! Come on, fuckers! I'll _kill_ you!"

Behind her back, Jack plucked a barrier mnemonic into being, wreathing her momentarily in purple glow. Not a moment too soon. Two rockets burned their way upwards toward her. One came from close to the building, the other from somewhere on the opposite side of the slope, beneath Grunt.

_Fuck. Hoped for just one. Worry about one at a time._

Instead of moving back from the rim, she stepped forward, right to the edge. Jack's blood was singing in her veins. She focused on the first rocket. Fired second, but she knew it would hit sooner. At the same time, she was dimly aware of Grunt vaulting onto the scree, shotgun primed at the nearest turret. It stayed trained on Jack. _Good_.

Her vision locked on the rocket. Fifty feet, thirty feet.

_Wait...wait._

Twenty feet. A second's distance.

_Now._

The flare she snapped off was fluid, instinctive. It jumped from her hands to the rocket, which exploded silently. Jack didn't dare release the breath she was holding. The second punched through the shrapnel of the first. But the afterglow of Jack's flare was just enough to push it out of its original path. She drove herself onto her back as the rocket flew over her - right where her head had been.

_Shit_.

Jack sucked in a long, shuddering breath, and pushed herself back to her feet. Beneath her, Grunt had disposed of the first turret with the butt of his rifle and was charging clockwise around the the bowl of the crater. He was clearly fixed on a third turret lower down, at Jack's three o'clock - where it would take aim at Miranda. Grunt had cannonballed off the top. Miranda swung her legs off the edge and dropped down, as though simply slipping off a windowsill. _Too fucking slow_. Jack fought the instinct to run towards her, to help, and instead ran around the edge towards Grunt._ Cross-hairs need to stay on me and him._

She knew the shot she aimed at the third turret was out of range, but it had the intended effect. It shifted its sights away from Miranda and fixed on Grunt, whose deafening bellow filled Jack's suit comm as he closed on it. She hurled another flare at it. It fried, but didn't destroy it. Grunt's point blank shotgun blast finished turret three. He roared again. The thrill of the fight ran up Jack's spine.

Glancing back to the opposite side of the bowl, Miranda had disappeared, meaning she had reached the relative safety of a boulder part-way down the slope. Jack began to retrace her steps, hurrying around the rim to her starting position. _Come on, Miranda._

Moments later, a blue electric surge arced through space, down towards the building. Three concealed machine gun turrets - no doubt programmed to mow down anyone successfully getting into close range - smoked uselessly. Jack felt an unaccountable surge of pride._ Clever girl._

"Perfect!"

Exaltation immediately lurched into horror as two remaining turrets - the first one, close to the building, and a second not sixty feet from Miranda's boulder - trained on her position. A dead weight dropped to the pit of Jack's stomach. Without stopping to think, she pitched straight over the edge of the rim. Grunt watched her, then began to move.

_Fuck off, Grunt. I don't care what you think._

Jack landed heavily, rolling her ankle. Fell. In the low gravity, the scree accelerated her down the slope. _I'm circling the drain._ Her barrier was down. Raw terror clutched, wordless, at her throat.

She felt herself being yanked sideways, onto her feet. Grunt had grabbed her roughly by the arm in a breakneck charge across the crater, towards Miranda's position. He growled. Jack hadn't heard Grunt pissed before. Ankle numb, she chased after Grunt. The two rockets had fired, both aiming for Miranda.

_Please no please no please no -_

Both rockets hit Miranda's boulder. The first detonated against it, the second blew it apart. Shards of sharp rock flew in all directions. Anyone standing in the immediate blast radius would be sliced to shreds - and in vacuum, that spelled a quick but excruciating death.

Jack made a sound between a moan and a scream. She clamped her eyes shut, ice pouring into her limbs. Both Jack and Grunt threw themselves to the ground up the slope.

"To the building! Now!" A voice - commanding, excited. Not Grunt's. And not beta squad. She dared to hope. _Miri?_

"Below you!"

_When she's under stress the twang comes out. Thank fuck._

Jack looked right and down, and saw Miranda sprinting full-tilt down the slope. Her centre of gravity was thrown back as far as possible to stop her falling ass-over-tit. Jack and Grunt picked themselves up and moved to deal with the remaining turrets. They reached Miranda as the cracker light turned green.

No-one said anything for a short moment. The fighting had been over in under a minute. All listened to one another as they fought to get their breathing under control. Jack bent at the waist. Miranda stood straight with her back to the wall, gulping down great lungfuls of air. Grunt recovered first, aimed a kick at the side of the building. Though there was no sound, Jack put a hand to the wall and could feel the mechanical hum of something approaching from far beneath them. Jack's earlier sense of dread returned full force.

The door slid open slowly, roof to floor, revealing a airlock lit by dim emergency lighting. It was sterile, pristine. Anger and frustration put aside, the three eyed each other. None of them wanted to be the first to admit they really didn't want to step inside.

Jack finally squared her shoulders. "Well, are we pussies? What are we waiting for?"

The airlock doubled as an elevator. The shaft was a throat, and they were stepping into it, asking to be swallowed.

Chest still heaving, Jack stowed her shotgun and forced herself forward.

* * *

_A/N: Hope you're still enjoying the story. I thought I needed to do two things at this point, at opposite ends of the writing spectrum, so hopefully this chapter doesn't feel weird as a result. The first was to provide some context to Miranda's feelings for Jack - namely, how any why such an improbable pairing, from an in-game perspective, could get off the ground. The second was some action, after some dialogue-heavy chapters. More action and creepiness next chapter. Any and all reviews and constructive criticism very much appreciated! - Caracal_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Miranda was wound up tight. Jack didn't need to see her to know it. Her eyes were fixed on the same section of wall directly in front of her. They were dropping like a deadweight through millions of tons of solid rock. If Jack looked around, she felt, _knew_, with childlike certainty and rising panic that the walls were closing in.

Inky black fear was crawling around inside her suit, over her skin, coiling into a tight band around her chest.

"- are you even listening to me?" A hand gripped Jack's shoulder. She flicked her eyes up to the clear panels underneath the ceiling, where different bands and colours and textures of rock flew past with increasing speed.

A familiar drumbeat (_getoutgetoutgetoutgetout_) drowned every other impulse. Jack twitched like a marionette. She braced both arms behind her head to stop her hands shaking.

She needed a distraction.

"Fuck you, bitch." Jack spat the words, shrugged Miranda's hand from her armour forcefully.

_And...boom. Works like a charm._

"What in the hell were you doing out there? What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?"

"Fucking ballet. Why? Was I _pretty_?" Jack tried to sneer, but her teeth were grinding together. A prickle of fear had started in her feet and was creeping up her legs.

"Your acrobatics sent you sprawling on your idiot face. You bloody fool."

An old note of familiar cruelty hung in Miranda's voice. Jack knew it would unsettle her, as would Jack's refusal to face her.

"Well. Stupid bitch I was with couldn't keep her fucking mouth shut, could she?"

The prickle advanced to Jack's gut, her breast, her heart.

Miranda, palms raised, shrugged theatrically. "_I_ followed our plan. Once again, you can't follow simple instructions. And here I thought I had you housetrained."

Jack felt herself backsliding into the pit. She struggled to keep her focus on the fight.

"You looked like a porn vid whore up there. Sashaying like a fucking fashion show." She hissed through her teeth. "I didn't want you to break a nail."

The prickle crawled under her skin, over the back of her scalp -

Miranda snapped. "Get fucked, Jack."

_Bullseye_. Jack's laugh was harsh. "Yeah. Wasn't that supposed to be _your_ job?"

Grunt, who had been minding his business as best he could in the enclosed space until that point, tried to move between them.

"Shiagur's tits. Are you stupid females in heat or something? Both of you shut the hell up. Save the love play for whatever's on the other side of this door."

"Come on, Grunt." Jack's voice mocked (pleaded). She still couldn't look at Miranda. "Back me up."

He shook his head. "You were a damn fool out there. You're being a damn fool in here. You're picking a fight." He pulled his assault rifle from his back, flipped the safety. "You need to snap out of it. Both of you do."

"You're right, Grunt." Miranda's tone had switched from angry to deductive. Like she had remembered something half-buried. That was Jack's only warning.

Next moment, she was slammed so hard against the wall she thought she heard her helmet crack. Miranda struck whip-fast. Hips slotted over and immobilised Jack's pelvis; her upper body trapped Jack's shoulders; arms came up on either side of Jack's head, hands tight on her helmet. Miranda had her pinned. She couldn't move and couldn't see. She was being crushed. Jack's carefully cultivated aggression dissolved into mindless terror.

"Jack. _Jack_. Don't close your eyes. Stay with me." Jack could still feel, rather than see, Miranda's ire, but her voice was reassuring. Coaxing. Jack didn't want to hear it. She pushed her eyes open to find Miranda's inches from her own. They narrowed, comprehending, when she saw Jack's wild expression. Miranda pressed their helmets closer together, so there was nowhere else for Jack to look.

"Are you fighting?...What _are_ you doing?" Grunt sounded scandalised.

Jack knew. _No time to get around. The most direct path is straight through._

At any other time, Jack would buck her off. This time, she couldn't.

"I'm in - We're - Can't breathe," she panted. "The rock. All around. It's going to fall." A sob died in Jack's throat. _Fucking pitiful bitch._

"You're fine, Jack. I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Just look at me. Breathe. In through your nose - yes. Now out through your mouth. Good, Jack. Again." Their eyes locked, held. Miranda placed one of Jack's hands under her arm. Jack could feel the swell of Miranda's ribcage rise and fall.

"Liara. Naya. What if they're -" Jack choked on the words. "We're buried in a fucking _tomb_."

"We don't know that." Miranda pushed her body harder against Jack, letting her feel the steady tide of her breathing go in and out. She held Jack like a vise, perfectly still. Her frantic, shallow gasps gradually relaxed; mindless fear melted away. Jack's breaths slowed to match Miranda's slow ones undulating through her. The older woman loosed her grip slightly, but didn't let go.

"That's good, Jack. Just you and me. It's all okay." Miranda's speech was calm, even. After another moment, she addressed Grunt in the same measured voice, though she kept her eyes fixed on Jack.

"Panic attack. When she's losing it, she picks fights. Small, underground spaces don't agree with her. Especially not when she's wired like she is."

_I'm okay._ Jack flexed her hips uncomfortably. She was unaccustomed to Miranda's dominant position. "Yeah. I'm fine. Better than fine. Miranda, can you get off me now, before I get, you know... bothered?"

Miranda rolled her eyes, but Jack could see her laughter lines crease up as she pushed away from the wall. She squeezed Miranda's hand once, hard.

"Just say something to me next time. Simply being a bitch doesn't tend to cure them." Back to business without breaking a sweat. Miranda unholstered her SMG again, checked the clip again. Beneath her feet, Jack sensed the elevator braking. _Out of this fucking box at last._

Grunt cocked his head to one side, lumbered over to the left side of the door. Miranda and Jack took the right. "Claustrophobia. Hmmm. Figures." He peered down the sights on his rifle. "These doors are opening in a minute. You better be through with that display." He activated the fort fluid overlaying his armour. "I'll take point."

* * *

The door was a drawbridge. It lowered slowly and loudly, old gears shrieking together. Miranda winced at the noise. They had, without doubt, lost any element of surprise they might have had. All three huddled behind the limited cover provided by the elevator, hearing primed for any sound outside. She strained and heard only the hum of blood in her own ears and the echo of the gears and the thrumming of her heart.

Grunt turned to them both, shook his great head. _Nothing_. After a few more moments, he straightened his spine, pushed off the wall and burst through the entrance. Unusually for Grunt, things stayed quiet.

Jack, unable to contain herself inside the elevator any longer, raised her pistol and followed him out. Miranda emerged last, checking the elevator controls as she exited. The gears were jammed. Beta squad were left guarding their rear at the surface. There was no way down. They would be alone, at least for a while. She couldn't put her finger on her suspicion, and wasn't sure she wanted to.

The space they were in was hewn straight from the rock. Miranda thought it was square. Impossible to be sure. Most was hidden in shadow and darkness. Emergency lighting embedded into the ground provided limited illumination, but it was not much use. More - black and strobing - came from two floor-to ceiling banks of monitors covering the walls to her left and right. All showed dark, blank static. Her view was partially obscured by four rock pylons toward the middle of the room.

Grunt and Jack had crept off in opposite directions. Slowly, deliberately, they swept the perimeter, Jack doubtless grateful for the illusion of space. Miranda had never seen a krogan try to move stealthily. If that was Grunt's intention, he was doing rather well. The fort fluid worked against him in this area. Neither spoke. Miranda made a quick assessment of her environment and pressed cautiously into the centre, where rows of desks and dead computer equipment reflected the dim glow of the monitors. She crouched behind the first she reached, then pressed to the ground to scan for boots or any other signs of people.

Or life. So far, they had found none. The facility seemed deserted.

Miranda's most primitive instinct disagreed.

She evaluated the walls, the floor, the elevator they had emerged from. The place was brutish, utilitarian. Quite unlike the ostentation of Thessian architecture or the artificial simplicity of Ilium - or the old Citadel, before the war. This was more like Tuchanka or Haestrom. Or Feros. Thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands of years old.

_Did you make this place, Liara? Or did you find it?_

It occurred to Miranda that Sinchi could be riddled with bunkers and tunnels and caverns like these, that you could lose yourself forever in them. Perhaps others had. Perhaps this really was a tomb complex. Were there ghosts in a place like this?

_You're worse than Jack. Get a damn grip._

Miranda wove with deliberate care between the rows of desks. Her eyes were beginning to strain but she had begun to observe small details.

A smashed monitor.

Papers in the wrong order and upside down, strewn across desks.

A half-drunk cup of what looked like coffee, though with her helmet on it was impossible to verify.

A haptic interface, forlornly flickering on and off.

Datapads fallen on the floor.

She stooped to collect one of the last, swiped the screen to activate it. Destinations for Omega's under-the-counter eezo consignments. She replaced it on the desk. The evidence pointed to surprise attack. Perhaps a reprisal.

_She was convinced no-one would find this place._ Miranda frowned. _She must have believed she was safe._

Grunt was at the far end of the room, the side opposite the elevator, when Jack swore loudly through the suit comm. She and the krogan both jumped. Jack was standing between two of the pylons, pistol hanging limply from one hand. She was looking down at a shadow on the floor. A black shadow lying in a pool of murky light, like oil on water. Miranda fought a strong urge to retch.

She raced across. The sheer volume of blood was hideous. Several pints of it had seeped along the uneven surfaces of the rock, congealed in places. She was grateful her helmet blocked her sense of smell. It was too dark to be krogan or salarian. It could be human, or asari. It was too dark for a positive ID. But they all knew.

Something else glinted in the glow of the monitors. Kneeling, she reached over to pick it gingerly from the mess with the tips of her finger and thumb. Her heart clenched when she heard the quiet metallic clink. She knew the shape and weight of those tags by heart. They all did. There were replicas in countless museums across the galaxy. Kids, hero-worshippers and wannabees wore them like amulets. These were the originals.

Shepard's tags were a trifle, but they carried all the accumulated significance of a life. Of two - _no, three_ - lives. Of many more, in fact, including much of her own. For the first time in many years, Miranda allowed herself a moment to feel the raw sorrow of simply missing Shepard. Missing them both. Shepard and Liara's absence shut the door on a part of herself that - even with Jack and their family - she could never retrieve. She had long ago made her peace with Shepards' passing, but her eyes and throat burned. For now, she looped the tags around her own neck, where they grazed against her breastplate. Miranda couldn't read Grunt and Jack's faces under their helmets, but she knew they were sharing the same grief. The tags were slick with Liara's blood.

"I haven't seen any spent clips." Grunt shouldered his rifle. "And there's no sign of gunfire anywhere."

"Must have been a knife. Something sharp," Jack paced in front of them both.

"And she was removed," Miranda continued, "though there's no blood trail or evidence to indicate how."

She chose not to reveal the news about the elevator, nor her suspicion it had been sabotaged. Not yet.

Grunt crouched to examine the spilled blood. "Fought asari mercs over and over through the years. This looks pretty bad. Pretty much all bled out."

"Maybe not. You see the tags? Chain's unbroken. Taken off, not ripped off." Jack watched them glinting around Miranda's neck. Her tone was pregnant with forced hope. "There's a good chance Blue left them for us to find. Maybe she left them as a sign the attack didn't kill her."

Miranda crossed her arms. "I wouldn't say good. They could have been left here to taunt us."

None of them wanted to accept that. Jack raised her head to survey the rest of the room. "Yeah. Well. You seen any signs of a kid in here?" The others shook their heads. "Nope. Me neither."

She shivered as she remembered what she told Vega in the beginning; that a child may have been a clever lure. For all their sakes, she didn't share this, either.

Grunt pointed. He acted every inch the krogan battlemaster, but Miranda heard the quiver in his voice. "I found a door over there. There's nowhere to sleep, or eat, or - how do you humans say - _make your toilet_ in here." Inanely, Miranda found herself biting back hysteria. "Figure that's the next place for us to look."

Once again, Grunt took point as they approached; this time, with less enthusiasm. They were unlikely to find Liara still here, or still alive; and this sapped some of their spirit. The heaviness of her heart seeped out into Miranda's limbs.

Unlike the elevator, this door was well maintained. It yawned open silently. A narrow corridor melted away into darkness in front of them, and by the dim light cast into it by the monitor room they could see four cramped chambers extend to either side.

They stepped in. The room to their left was a nondescript kitchenette, of the type regularly found in subpar apartments from Earth to Omega. The process of loading dirty crockery into a washer had been abandoned. Some kind of fruit sat spoiled on the countertop, and a glass of elasa lay untouched. The surfaces were scratched and worn.

The next room was fitted with rudimentary hygiene facilities and a sonic shower. It appeared clean, but somehow uncared for, unused. It was increasingly difficult to see, but the group resisted activating their flashlights. They did not know they were alone.

The third room, which even the emergency lights did not fill, seemed crammed with cargo crates. The last contained only a narrow cot, a desk, and a shelf. It looked dusty and neglected.

Grunt continued a short way further down the corridor, where the darkness coagulated into something thick and tangible. He returned a short time later, light bobbing atop his rifle.

"No blood. No combat. Corridor hits a T junction just up there, but both ends are blocked with more crates. Nobody's home."

The squalour and meanness of Liara's life chilled Miranda. She crashed into something like despair. "It's pitiful," she murmured. "Why did she suffer here alone?"

Jack's reply was soft and equally strangled. "Look. Miri." She brought out a framed picture from next to Liara's cot. The only item in that room absent of dust and grime. It was Shepard in her quarters aboard the _Normandy_. Stamped 2286.

Shepard was dressed casually, in a vest top and combats. The woman was sitting way back in a chair, fingers knitted together behind her head, feet propped and crossed on the desk. Scars, hair, eyes, teeth, _mien_ all exactly the way Miranda remembered them. _Perfect_. The photographer - presumably Liara - had made her laugh, and her face was open and relaxed even as she looked to be losing her balance. Love shone in her expression.

_Liara, why the hell didn't you let us help you?_

Twisting her own flashlight on, Miranda forced herself to make an assessment of their options. She was close to losing it. If she lost it, so would Jack. They didn't have all the jigsaw pieces yet, and they needed more data. "Let's go back to the monitor room. We need to know more about what happened. If there are any clues as to where they took her, or motive, we need them. If there ever was a kid - and it doesn't look that way - then they're both gone."

_God damn it to hell._

Grunt shook his head as he moved back toward the exit. "She's the Shadow Broker. Too many motives, too little time. Can't you find a way to restore the power?"

Miranda followed him. Jack didn't.

* * *

Jack reeled. Unbelievable to think this pisshole was Liara's home. Her panic attack wrung her out, had electrified every last nerve. The blood stain had turned her gut to water. The combination of that and Shepard's portrait made her stomach heave, like a hovercar doing a barrel flip. She needed a minute to get her head straight. Perhaps the place looked better with the lights on. Jack had been in enough dives to suspect it wouldn't.

Her thighs, her neck and cheeks all flushed inside her suit. Her body was slicked with sweat. Jack remembered what she had promised to reward herself with. The downside was the same as the upside - her senses would return to full working order. Relying on suit sensors was like fucking with a rubber. _Not that I've done that in a while._ But unlike the others, Jack had committed crimes. She'd had lived in slums. Done prison time. Her instincts were primal, reflex. And wearing armour fucked it all up. She needed sensation, not signals.

_Screw it_. Jack's hands reached up, released her suit seals and prised her helmet from her head. Cold air wicked moisture from her temples; the nape of her neck tickled. She felt free. She rubbed a forearm across her sweat-damped face. _What a fucking blessed relief._

Jack gulped down a breath of air. Stale, but like a swig of iced water on a hot day. She caught the sickly-sweet smell of asari blood, and the rank perfume of the putrefying fruit left on the sideboard. Nothing she hadn't dealt with before. And the dark did not faze her. Shit, Jack _was_ the night-time creature others dreaded coming across. Or she had been. She put her helmet on Liara's cot, twisted her flashlight on. Every corner of the small room jumped into view. But there was nothing to see. Motes of dust glimmered in the air. Three steps took her out into the corridor again. Jack relinquished control, let her liberated senses go to work.

The minute hairs on her upper lip and the shaven regrowth at her neck tingled.

_The air is moving. There's a draft._

Jack's head turned of its own accord. Making no noise, she followed her flashlight into the T junction beyond. Light fell onto her surroundings, but somehow didn't illuminate. Cargo boxes loomed dark and finite. She heard nothing, but a soft breath of air ghosted over the rims of her ears. _A space. To the right._ It was tiny. No wonder Grunt had missed it. Jack bent, flexed her body through the gap.

Standing behind the bank of crates, a blank wall lay straight ahead; another door lay to the right. Its mechanism was broken. A two inch expanse of absolute darkness lay beyond. It was heavy, thick, viscous like crude oil. All of Jack's senses clamoured to fill in the gaps. Beyond the door, a staircase led downward.

Jack jimmied the door open with relative ease. She felt her way down the steps, slow and careful. Her limbs were numb, and despite the warmth rising from below, she now felt cold. With every step, she became more certain she would find an answer at the foot of the stairs; but the coppery taste of fear lining the roof of her mouth intensified.

Blood pooled in her abdomen. The dark pressed close. The torchlight fell on empty space, worse than useless. Jack thought about turning it off again, but couldn't. A shudder wormed its way up from her loins to the vulnerable space between her shoulderblades.

She stood again on level ground. The weak light cast by the flashlight did not help her find her bearings, but Jack felt - _knew_ - the room was small. _Okay. Go round the edge of the room first._ Sheet metal cladding cased the walls and floor. _Not like the bare rock upstairs._ This worried and relieved Jack at the same time. Sliding her toes out in front of her, feet touched thick cables criss-crossing the floor. In the blackness, Jack thought she could see them coiled like snakes. Cold sweat trickled from her shoulder blades into the small of her back.

Jack had groped her way past the first corner when she stopped. All her senses were preternaturally sharp. She was all but blind, and her eyes and ears strained to interpret any clues in the dark. Nevertheless, she knew.

_I'm not alone._

Jack snarled._ Fuck this._

She stepped forward, into the middle of the room. She couldn't see shit. But something moved.

Then, a crackle of electric blue. Her flashlight died.

Her heart started to bang violently against her ribcage.

_It's gonna - shut the fuck up, cunt. Focus._

Another movement. Toward Jack. Instinctively, she took a step backward. Her injured ankle gave. She tripped. Pain lanced through her foot. She could feel it in her teeth.

Without thinking, Jack snapped her biotics to life. Two thoughts crashed together -_ I should have done this in the first place_ and_ I'm lit up like a glowstick. Fuck._

It was the last thing she thought before she flared up and out. Purple fire plumed up from her hands.

It lit a white, pellucid face. The corners of its mouth were stretched into a grimace.

Jack screamed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Every part of Grunt despised the idea of hunting for stupid electronic clues. Blood rang through his skull, demanding violence. But the prospect of an outlet for his burgeoning krogan aggression was diminishing, and Grunt's battle-readiness was already curdling into poisonous - useless - fury.

He knew he could become dangerous to the humans in this state. But they were clan. Even Miranda, who he had never brought himself to like. Didn't matter. The bonds of obligation were unbreakable. They behaved like fools, but he would still do everything in his power to stop them coming to harm. So he focused all his force of will on control. He impelled his limbs to comply with Miranda's order. Grunt's body resisted so strongly that every step hurt. He focused so hard he did not notice that Jack had slipped away.

Then he was charging at full tilt, legs braced with molten iron, before he realised he had heard Jack's scream. He yanked his shotgun from his back and pumped it as he skidded around the corner into the T junction. He heard a metallic clank, felt it through his feet. Cargo crates flew aside as though they were no more than paper. An ethereal purple glow rose from a staircase to his right. Grunt bounded down the steps, an excited bellow booming from his throat. _Finally. Some action._

He exploded into a cramped space. Jack lay prone on the floor, but her biotics flooded the room with bright light. Her face was contorted into a mask of pain and strain. On the other side of the room, she had suspended a human male in mid-air. Grunt felt a thrill tighten in his quad. _No armour_. He didn't hear Jack's warning as he went for her attacker. He barreled into the man with enough force to snap his unprotected neck.

Bewilderment gave way to blinding pain. It exploded beneath his head crest. _He's not a squishy. Bastard's made of metal._ He staggered back, letting go. His fight was gone. A soft click told him Miranda had disengaged the safety on her pistol behind him. She stepped in front of Grunt, gun pointed calmly at the man's head. She was still a lethal predator, Grunt realised. Jack was the liability.

"Please - do not shoot, Ms Lawson. I mean no harm. I am not a threat."

The light of Jack's biotics dimmed slightly. Miranda didn't move a muscle. Her only acknowledgement was a narrowing of her eyes.

The intruder raised his palms to shoulder level. The universal language of surrender. But he showed no signs of injury, or even of exertion. He wore a simple wrap-around grey robe, belted at the waist, wide-legged grey trousers stopping inches above his heels, and no shoes.

_Queer. A lone humanoid in the cold and the dark._

"I was damaged in the attack. When I heard your entry, I hurried to welcome you. Ms Lawson, Ms Zero" - he gestured toward Jack on the floor, nodding - " Urdnot Grunt. I cannot convey how relieved I am by your arrival."

"I'm sure," Miranda replied. Her words were ice. She was weighing up whether to shoot him.

"I have been counting the minutes since the distress call was issued. There have been one thousand, six hundred and thirty six. But that is of no consequence," he finished, seeing Miranda's trigger finger tighten. "The important thing is that you are here to help us."

Jack spoke from her position on the floor. Her words came between ragged breaths. "Just who - the _fuck_ - are you?"

He smoothed down an errant lock of blond hair. "You have all known me a long time, Jack Zero. But my present form may surprise you. I have been bound to serve Doctor T'Soni in whatever manner she finds amenable for many years." His face was eager to please. "I am Glyph."

Grunt scoffed. His head throbbed. "You're T'Soni's old info drone? Yeah, right. And I'm the winner of the Miss Ilium beauty pageant."

The android's mouth pulled into a thin line. He had a decidedly clever air, one Grunt didn't like.

"My first memory of _you_, Battlemaster Grunt, was four months after Commander Shepard liberated you from Warlord Okeer's tank. I was still based on Hagalaz and you were about to depart for Tuchanka. You asked me for restricted data concerning the Rite. You were curious as to whether it involved enduring torture. You were concerned about your ability to withstand it. Shall I go on?"

He had never told anyone about that, including Shepard. He stood mute, seething. The two women had the good sense not to say anything. Glyph turned his attention to Miranda.

"This chassis is tough, but you should understand I have no combat programming whatsoever. I assure you that I am no threat. In truth, your presence is a comfort to me, even at gunpoint. I have been - afraid, Ms Lawson."

Miranda gave him a searching look, then lowered her gun. Slowly.

"Grunt, could you help Jack, please?" she asked. He was glad to be given a task.

"Now - you said us?"

"Yes. Naya and me. She's unharmed. Hmmm. That human expression. What is it?" His long fingers played through the air, as though looking for the right note - "she is right as rain." Glyph beckoned. "Let me take you to her."

* * *

Miranda and Grunt followed the android into a deeper suite of rooms, perfectly hidden from the monitor and server complexes above. They were a distraction; the squalid living space merely a decoy. This was the den Liara always intended to protect. And she had succeeded. Her daughter was safe.

Down here, they could believe they were simply on a large space station or a comfortable passenger liner. An absence of windows or viewports was often a selling point for the security conscious, or those perturbed by the emptiness of space. Such people preferred strong walls and bulkheads. They stood in a large, open plan area. A kitchen lay off to the right, a dining table straight ahead, and a seating and recreation space to the left. Soft golden light pooled around them. Miranda caught a toy box, lid half-closed, and a large sheaf of drawing paper, covered by colouring pencils, lying under the dinner table.

"This is the night cycle, so the lights are on low. Would you like me to lift them?"

Miranda shook her head. "No need. If you have a med kit and an ice pack, I'd be grateful. I need to see to Jack." Peeling her gloves off, she waved Grunt forward. As though handling a broken bird, he set Jack down onto a long couch. She made no protest. Her skin was pale; dark crescents had formed beneath her eyes. Miranda sat on a footstool beside her, pulling her helmet from her head to examine Jack's ankle. The woman hissed. Grunt remained standing, watching Glyph as he retrieved a red box from a cabinet on the far side of the room. He pressed straight to the point.

"Where's the kid?" he asked.

Glyph returned with Miranda's items and settled himself into a chair close to the two women - between himself and the krogan, who pulled off his helmet without ceremony. He folded his hands together on his lap. Composed. "She's sleeping. Her room is just behind us. She'll wake in about seventy-five minutes. I thought you could see her then - I didn't want to rouse her in the dead of night to meet strangers."

Grunt's eyes never left Glyph. "She meet many new people?"

"You will be the first, Battlemaster Grunt. Asari children are late developers. The same could not be said for you. We will have to proceed delicately."

"Quite the expert. You a nursemaid?"

"That is a part of what I do, yes. My high level processing and cognitive capacity is normally devoted to managing the Shadow Broker's data feeds. I identify significant patterns and trends. Of course, I did that when we all first met, but my abilities are much enhanced now. Or they were." Glyph leaned forward. "Doctor T'Soni upgraded me to an AI around the time Naya was born. She needed a helpmate to assist with raising her - something with the capacity to love and nurture." He steepled his fingers underneath his chin.

Miranda checked Jack's temperature. She had cool, clammy skin. _Crap._ Hands moved of themselves to loosen Jack's chestplate and greaves. She began to rub medigel into Jack's leg, raking her spare hand through sweaty hair. She spoke to stem a tide of panic. _This is not good._ "I knew she was technically competent. But to do that by herself? Very impressive."

"Less so than you might think, Ms Lawson," Glyph replied. "Jeff Moreau gave Doctor T'Soni permission to salvage EDI's remains. But she was more than just the sum of her parts, and could not be resurrected." Glyph's smile was ghoulish. "Her parts, on the other hand, were put to good use here. We share many of the same - vital organs, you might say. And I inherited many of her memories." There was something prurient in his tone.

Miranda shuddered. His apparent lack of concern for such a violation was profoundly unsettling. Then Grunt jerked. He accused. "EDI was a cyber-warfare suite. You said you were a non-combatant."

Glyph answered simply. "I am shackled. I have never left this compound."

_That explains a great deal._ Miranda finished applying medigel to Jack's ankle, elevated it gently to rest on the back of the couch. Jack's breaths came fast and shallow. Miranda's pulse quickened in response. _This is not happening right now. _She pulled Jack's medication from a pouch at her waist, prepared a quarter dose as quickly as she was able. It didn't feel nearly fast enough.

"How beat up are you?" Grunt asked the android - despite himself.

"As you saw, upstairs is in a poor state. All but my core processors - the ones stored down here - are offline. Old memories, basic subroutines, personality matrix - that is all intact." He smiled unevenly. "I should imagine the feeling is akin to a stroke."

Jack exposed her neck to receive the hypospray. She stabilised. _Thank God._ Miranda's own knees were weak. She caressed Jack's cheek, stroked the pad of her thumb reassuringly across her jaw. As she folded onto the couch, Miranda heard herself say: "Well, we can help you both now. How has Naya reacted?"

"She hasn't noticed anything amiss. Not yet. At least, I don't think so. Doctor T'Soni is often absent for stretches of time. Supply trips, contacts take her away. I take care of her and the Doctor's affairs during these periods. Naya is accustomed to them. As far as she knows, her mother is simply on another trip."

Grunt propped himself against the wall. "You know anything about what happened up there?"

The android fumbled in a trouser pocket. He was searching for something. "As I said, I am mostly offline. Without repair, my audiovisual records of the incursion are inaccessible."

"Right. Convenient."

"But I was aware of this possibility. That's why I" - he produced a scrap of paper with a triumphant flourish - "wrote down what I heard before my connection was lost." He passed it to Miranda, who unfolded it with impatient fingers.

On the paper was scrawled, in black ink:

_THE DARKNESS MUST NOT BE BREACHED_

Glyph folded his arms. "Do any of you know what that means? I feel as though I should, but I just - " He sighed. The three visitors were silent for a time, until Miranda finally responded.

"We'll find out."

* * *

The heat of the shower soothed Bashir's sore limbs, but as he stepped out into the deck behind the house he was refreshed by wisps of warm breeze grazing over his skin. He would cool off in no time. Beer in one hand, cigarettes in the other, he sat atop his parents' outdoor dining table, propping his feet up with a chair. Today's lessons had been punishing. Now that Frankie had settled into bed, he intended to mellow out for a few hours. Inhaling deeply on a cigarette - the exquisite first of his day - Bashir leaned back and gazed into the sunset. The fading light crashed against the ring of particles embedded in Chasca's atmosphere and fractured across the sky; a vibrant bonfire of oranges, pinks, purples and reds.

The effect was stunning, as it always was. Bashir paid it little attention. His problem was familiarity. It was the same show all day, every day. It was a major tourist draw, but the fading light never actually died. It never got dark. He had stared into the same panorama since he was a boy and the only variable, day to day, was the weather; and that was not enough to make up for the nuances of night-time, morning, noon. All the other punctuation of a typical day on any other planet. His years spent on Chalkhos had left him a different man. Chasca now felt like a familiar straitjacket, one that chafed. If he was honest with himself, he dreamed of escape. He still missed Irem. But the asari had disappeared into the anti-poverty programme on Earth without as much as a backward glance.

Bashir swirled his beer around the bottom of the bottle absently. He was in morose fettle. Yes, if he were truly honest he was really bloody bored. Satiated, absolutely, but spiritually restless. After two semesters working an antiseptic job at the Academy, the cookie-cutter monotony of New Lima was choking him. No amount of friendly fucking - and he had been indulging of late - or mind-altering substances were helping. But it had been a guilty revelation. He had come back for his parents, intending to bear witness to Jack's accelerating frailty. He would have his Mom's back, as she always had his. And the strain on his (other) mother vexed him. Another drag on his cigarette reached the bottom of his lungs. Mom had been volatile before her condition deteriorated. The effect on his baby sister was an even more distressing question.

"_Bashir Lawson._ Mum would take you down if she saw you. I can smell that from upstairs."

Light footsteps padded up to the table behind him. He turned to her. Frankie had pulled his fleecy work shirt over the top of her pajamas for warmth, but her feet were bare. Her thick dark hair was mussed, and she smelled of sleep, but Bashir could tell she was wide awake. Something had jolted her. Presumably not his smokes, though. She was used to those.

"Well, guess what? Mum's not here." Bashir flicked ash onto the deck. "Mom would destroy you if she found you outside after bedtime, too."

Frankie looked mutinous. "I'm going to tell them."

"Shut up. You do, and I'll put you in a stasis field for a week."

At this, his sister looked genuinely wrong footed, though determined not to show it. She crossed her arms in a devilishly good - though accidental - echo of Miranda.

"No you wouldn't. You're not allowed." Nevertheless, genuine concern flashed across her face. "And I'd miss school."

He stretched up, popped his spine. "You're right. We couldn't have that, obviously." Bashir's voice was wry. He exhaled smoothly, smoke unfurling from between his lips. "Did it ever occur to you that Moms know I smoke? I'm twenty years older than you."

Frankie climbed up onto the table next to him, nestled into his chest. He wound his arm - the one with the beer attached, not the cigarette - around her. His sister had always been on the small side, but a recent growth spurt had transformed her into a gangling mess of arms and legs. She balled her hand into his pressed shirt. "It's still disgusting."

"I'm giving up soon." To underline it, Bashir flicked the last embers of his cigarette onto the deck. The contrast between her milky skin and his copper complexion was striking in the light. He pulled her close. "You really should be in bed, little pyjak. We're up early for your science trip tomorrow."

Frankie pulled away, put one of her small hands on the side of his face. His freshly-clipped beard prickled. "Won't Moms be back by then?"

"Probably. But if they're not, I was gonna take you. We'll have fun with all the camera-toting tourists."

She sank back into him, tucking her feet into the bottom of the oversized shirt she was wearing. _If she likes it, she can keep it. Poor kid._ When she looked up again, her blue-grey eyes were full of worry. She spoke in a whisper.

"Where have they really gone, Bash?"

"Just up to Quilla. Mum asked Mom for some help with something. Really, that's all." He rubbed her tummy. "No need for you to worry."

Frankie shook her head. He could feel her wipe her eyes and nose against his clean shirt. _Damn. Don't have a spare._ "I can't sleep, Bash. I got this really sudden feeling like something's wrong." Her breath caught in her throat. "I'm afraid something bad's gonna happen."

He stroked her hair, then raised her chin up to meet his eyes. He spoke as he might do in class, with as much authority as he could muster. "Nothing's wrong." Frankie stared back at him, then snatched his beer. Before he could protest, she had stolen a gulp. He grabbed it back. "Hey. that's _definitely_ not allowed."

She smiled at him unevenly, feigning dutch courage. "Something _is_ wrong. I can prove it." She lowered her voice. "I hacked Blasto."

Bashir couldn't hide his astonishment. "You did what? _How_?"

"_You've_ got biotics. _I've_ got to be good at something. It wasn't that hard, really." Frankie's anxiety intermingled with pride in her handiwork.

"Wow. You're brave. Mom will be mad."

Frankie shrugged. "Her bark's worse than her bite." Nevertheless, she chewed a nail in the way she always did when nervous. "Blasto said Mum was going to a ship. Mom went to meet her there."

Bashir swallowed another mouthful of beer. Doubt sunk like a stone into the pit of his stomach. If they had gone on a jolly without telling him, he would be _really_ fucking pissed. But he presented nonchalance. Frankie had to feel he was indulging one of her whims. "Okay. What kind of ship? What was it called?"

"The _Malakoff_. Blasto said it was a Normandy class frigate."

Know that ship. Not a jolly, then. What the fuck? Bashir surmised his mom hadn't known herself what she was chasing after when she called on him this morning. The thought was not comforting. His beer became bitter in his mouth.

"Well, they're grown ups. They're clever. They're probably helping the captain with something."

Frankie cocked her head, considering. Clearly, the theory satisfied her; her body relaxed some. Bashir moved to close off the discussion.

"Look. I'll make you a promise. If we haven't heard from them by the time we get up tomorrow, I'll call my friend. He works at Alliance headquarters. We'll find out what they're up to from him."

"Okay." She looked at him from underneath thick black lashes. "Tuck me in again?"

Boosting himself off the table, he gathered her up. She was light in the way only a child can be. Frankie wrapped her arms around his neck, stifled a yawn. Despite his self pity, his mood lifted. He kissed her hair. "One condition. You have to give me access to Blasto in return."

Later, when he returned to stare again into the changeless sunset, he dropped his head into his hands and was afraid.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_Back to being a prisoner of medical science. Doesn't look that way. But Jack's an inmate once again. Just another lab rat for that fuck's sick experiments. Bet Miranda think's it's funny. Full circle for the psychotic biotic. Soon as she's back on her feet she'll make good on her old promise to filet her. No galaxy-ending bullshit to stop her now._

_Jack's legs are back to being dead today. Just temporary. Before yesterday she was bombing around on crutches. Plans for outside. Today, some dumb shit yanks her half asleep out of bed into a wheelchair. She hates the chair about as much as the reason she's in it: Miranda. She sits in front of her window, brooding, not looking. There's nothing outside she wants to see._

_Shepard's memorial was yesterday and Jack was barred. Fuck physical therapy. She was only making the effort so she could go. Bitch stole her chance to pay her respects, say goodbye. She'll pay. But its hard to summon the old rage. The truth is that Jack has a hard time figuring out why she opens her eyes anymore. Used to be Reapers. The kids. Shepard made her care about those things. But she's gone. _

_Jack's strings have been cut._

_She ignores the polite knock at the door behind her. Whoever steals into the room is so quiet Jack's not immediately aware she has company. Liara's steps are silent; she joins Jack by the window. Her skin is dry; her eyes are glassy. Fuck, why do they all bother? Jack's hostile. Liara is patient. Eventually, Jack flicks her a sidelong glance, disbelieving. Liara is small, sad. Unbowed._

_Liara asks Jack for a shallow meld. Jack nearly laughs her out of the room. She refuses even to try. Not getting into that bullshit. She asks Liara if she looks like a peeping tom. Liara's face is blank, then sours. Jack remembers it doesn't pay to piss off this asari. So she agrees to talk instead. For every ten words Liara speaks, Jack speaks one. Shepard was funny, strong, smart, stupid, brave. Yeah. She gets what Liara is trying to do. It's a daring kindness. She's touched. Sort of. But Jack won't accept the healing hand Liara is offering._

_Jack is eager to talk about other things. But apparently she's fucking blind. Liara pours cold water on her pet topics. No, Miranda is not with Cerberus. No, you are not confined here. No, she is not experimenting on you. This is not about pity. Do you really think that? Liara is aghast. Jack, do you really not see?_

_Jack thinks: what's to see?_

_Liara is still for a long time. She stares out the window at the new buds and blossom and green growth. Her face is alive with pain. She settles on something. When she looks back at Jack, Liara's eyes are black. Jack remembers, too late, that asari melds don't rely on touch. The folds of her mind part. Then -_

_Jack sees herself with someone else's heart. Snapping her pistol away from Aresh's neck. Yelling into Miranda's face. Keeping the barrier up in the Collector base. Checking weapons with Legion. Dancing crazy with Shepard. Bleeding out, dying, in the pouring rain. On the operating table. Sleeping, peaceful, in the dead of night. Liara's howl at the memorial, stepping forward._

_A Pandora's box of emotions fly at Jack. Anger. Acceptance. Pride. Jealousy. Devotion. Want -_

_No. Fuck no._

_There is no remorse on Liara's face. Jack understands. She would be more likely to believe a pig could fly if she simply told her. She needs to be shown. Jack looks inside._

_What's left is love._

_Jack doesn't react well to an ambush. She lashes out, shoves Liara. She stumbles, falls onto the floor. Jack has never been more confused._

_Liara picks herself up, turns to go. Jack's eyes are pleading; she begs for her to take it back. She cannot process this. The asari is a pillar of freezing anger. She speaks with calm clarity. Liara's last words are a brand._

_"Open your eyes, Jack. You can accept her - or not. Refuse, by all means. But work out what you want. You have never been a coward. Shepard died. Not you."_

_Liara closes the door behind her. The Cybaen leaves Earth the same day, and Liara sets her face against the world._

* * *

Miranda was relieved that Jack obeyed her. More of her normal self was resurfacing, which was a positive development. She still lay on the couch, ice pack wedged into her boot, leg elevated and head propped with cushions. A gradual comedown from the meds was the goal from this point on, though Miranda privately doubted how feasible this would be. She didn't want to entertain the alternative. Jack caught her eye, and a gentle smile played across her features. Miranda's answering smile was automatic.

_Now to deal with the real child._

Jack was a child magnet. This was a source of universal amusement to people who knew her. But it made a certain kind of sense. She was so inappropriate, so heartfelt, children loved her. Miranda's thoughts strayed to Bashir. He was four or five when they found him on Yandoa; filthy, half-starved, feral. He slept under his bed, not on it at first, curled into a tight knot. Jack had bedded right down there with him. Miranda never loved him any less; her parenting was simply more reserved. She liked to think her style retained more of the stiff upper lip. It was impossible to say that about Jack.

Miranda loped over to the dining table. She folded her feet underneath her to sit on the floor. Glyph had gone to rouse the child, who would enter the room through the door directly ahead. Miranda knew Naya would come to her last - Jack and a krogan would be considerably more interesting - but Miranda felt the pull of curiosity about the girl. Frankie had been incredibly inquisitive at her age. She reminded herself all kids were different. She ran through what Jeyda had told her to expect a last time. Jack pointed to her chest. Miranda looked down, and hastily tucked Liara's blood-smeared dog tags beneath her breastplate.

Glyph stood in the open doorway. His legs were planted close together; a wall for the child to hide behind. After a short time, a small face peered around the side. One blue fist bunched in the fabric of Glyph's trousers.

"Some people have come to see you, Naya." Glyph's voice was singsong. "Can you look out there and tell me who they are?"

The face peeped out again, taking in each figure in turn. She tugged on the bottom of Glyph's robe, cupped her hand to whisper into his ear. Glyph knelt to hear, deftly maneuvering her out from behind his legs. This fact escaped her notice._ Smart move._

"You got two right. Very good. But what colour head plate does Wrex have?" Glyph tapped the top of his own head. Naya blinked, remembering.

"Red."

"And what colour does that person have?" He pointed.

"Grey."

"And what sort of person is he?"

"A krogan."

"So he must be..." Glyph nudged.

"Grunt!" Naya's face lit up. She clapped her hands together with glee.

Well done. Now, will you go and say hello to one of the humans, please? They have come such a long way."

Naya's iron grip on Glyph's clothing resumed, tighter than before. He put his hands on her shoulders, chided gently. "You have always been so brave. Now go on." He gave her a small push.

_Bloody hell._ Naya's resemblance to Shepard was uncanny. She had Shepard's face. And her markings were beautiful - bold stripes of colour sweeping like racing stripes along her head crests, matching Shepard's skin tone. The child was wearing a lemon yellow sleep suit, slightly too short at the ankles and wrists. Miranda was astonished when Naya walked straight past the couch, up to where she was sitting.

The child stopped just short of her and curiously - as if reaching out to test a mirage - small fingers brushed her hair. It was the gentlest touch, and Miranda leaned slightly into it, allowing Naya to continue. The girl was absorbing the texture, and colour, and quantity with intense concentration. She looked up at Glyph, who had taken care to stay within the child's reach as she crossed the room, and mouthed the word 'wow' at him with a look of absolute rapture on her face.

_Long hair is evidently a novelty_. Miranda couldn't help but be charmed.

"Go on, Naya," Glyph said.

"Hello, Miranda." The woman smiled at the child, who kept her hand in her hair.

"Pleased to meet you, Naya."

"Where did you come from?"

Glyph answered. "Outside." The word was tinged with foreboding, as if the trio had come from an unspeakable darkness beyond the edge of the world. For Glyph and Naya, Miranda thought, that was pretty much true.

"Did you come to see mama?" Naya's eyes were wide. They were Liara's shape, but Shepard's colour. Miranda remembered colour matching them.

"No. We came to see you. We came to see if you were real."

"Of course _I'm_ real." Naya was confused. "_You'r_e just s'posed to be stories." _She thinks this is a dream._

Naya became wrapped up in reciting what she knew about Miranda. "You really put daddy back together? In real life?" Miranda nodded. Her hair had exhausted Naya's interest. Warm fingers started to explore Miranda's eyebrows, her cheeks.

"You were daddy's friend. So was Jack. So was - _Grunt_." The child whispered the last with a quiver of fear. _Poor Grunt_. Miranda's hand came up to stroke the small of Naya's back.

"He's nothing to be scared of. Just a big softie. Did you know that _your_ daddy is also _his_ daddy?"

Naya fixed Miranda with a sceptical frown. Her nose crinkled. "Humans can't make krogan babies."

"Your daddy looked after Grunt just after he was born. So she became his daddy too. That makes him your big brother." At this, Naya's mouth opened into a perfect O of surprise.

"Did daddy come with you? She's never been here before."

Miranda heard hope in the girl's voice.

"No. Daddy isn't here."

Naya shrugged, turned to eye Grunt. Miranda closed her own hand over Naya's small one.

"It's okay. I'll introduce you."

After a reassuring touch from Glyph, Naya allowed Miranda to walk her over. She lifted her to sit on the kitchen island level with Grunt's chest. Grunt was sensibly trying to conceal his bulk behind the counter. Hunching over the island, the krogan looked like an ochre boulder. A nervous smile was fixed to his face.

"Hello, Grunt."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Hello."

Emboldened by Miranda's presence, Naya reached up to feel the loose skin hanging under his jaw, something Grunt was clearly averse to. _She's got balls, I'll give her that._

"You're scratchy. Why do you have scales?" Naya asked.

Grunt was blindsided by the question.

"Because I'm a krogan. Why are you blue?"

"Because I'm asari!" The child laughed as though Grunt had asked her the most ridiculous question in the world. Naya stood on the counter, patted his head plate. The movement began softly, progressed quickly to knocking hard. The krogan held himself still with some effort.

Jack caught his discomfort. "Hey, Grunt. Back on the ship, I remember something about 'younglings beyond number'? Knew you were blowing smoke up my - um." Glyph silenced her with a glare.

"Krogan younglings are different. Harder shells." Grunt voice was thrumming with panic. "We're not mammals. She's so... small."

Miranda had both hands around Naya's waist. They almost touched in front, the child was so tiny. _Grunt's terrified of breaking her._ She had an idea.

"Naya, would you like to show Grunt your toys?"

Naya's eyes swerved back to her, brimming with excitement. She nodded vigorously, wriggling in Miranda's grip to be let down from the counter. Once set on the floor, she reached upward to place her hand in his claw, pulling his one-ton mass toward her room. Amused, Miranda murmured _you'll be fine_ at his retreating figure. She wouldn't have suggested it had she not been certain.

"Do you like Garr the Battlemaster? I do. He's great. And Krum, too. I've got lots of the Captain Cosmic figures. And..."

Glyph followed in their wake. He had an odd look on his face. He reminded Miranda of a bird, one with a predator disturbing its nest.

Jack swung her legs round and sat upright. She tested her ankle on the floor. Miranda heard the sharp intake of breath from across the room. She returned to where she had been sitting alongside Jack. This time, Jack brought her hand to rest on Miranda's knee. Soft, hesitant. Miranda let it stay.

"Kid's cute. Sweet on you."

Miranda placed her hand over Jack's, lacing their fingers. Jack's skin was warm again. "Only until she gets around to you. Then it's party time."

"Not with this foot." Jack met Miranda's eyes, bashful. "Thanks for before. Taking care of me. Like always."

"No problem. Couldn't have you going into shock." Miranda nudged shoulders with Jack. "Not until we get back to the boat."

The same unsettling thought jarred both of them simultaneously. Something clicked into place.

_Glyph let us in. But he has no intention of letting us out._

* * *

_A/N: A big thank you to everyone who has read this far. Thanks for following the story, and for those of you leaving reviews and messages - it's really appreciated. _

_- Caracal_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Bashir didn't wait. He pinged his contact mid-evening, then paced an unsteady ellipse around the furniture of the living room, drink dangling from one hand. His omnitool pinged back in the small hours. _Hadfield Plaza. 0715_. Sleep didn't find him again.

He woke Frankie in time for them to catch the first shuttle up. She was dazed and sleepy. Bashir wasn't sure if he was lucky or not when she came to in the final leg of the journey. She'd be grizzly, at least until she was fed and watered. He had picked out some books to keep her occupied. Worthy stuff, the same astronomy and poetry forced down his throat by their mother at a similar age. And some books he knew she actually liked. There would be plenty of sitting around. And God knew he needed headspace. He needed to work out what the fuck was happening.

Bashir had hoped beyond hope that nothing would turn up. That Blasto was wrong. Frankie certainly had an overactive imagination. But he'd known something was off the second he heard the chime at his wrist. In truth, he'd known when his Mom had appeared at the door. It took a lot to piss Bashir off. However, he was an unstoppable juggernaut once his blood was up. His mind span crazy arcs, ran away in every direction. The worry was an unbearable itch he couldn't scratch. It had started to burn.

Hadfield Plaza was well out of their way. The pair got off rapid transit a couple of stops back, per the order. Bashir followed a location tag, the directions taking them through scuzzy alleyways and trash-littered service lanes starting to busy with early morning deliveries. He gripped Frankie's wrist too tight. She stumbled behind him, eyes clouded, trying to keep up with his much longer stride.

A right turn opened out onto the plaza itself, a glass-domed atrium flooded with light. Chasca's upper atmosphere reflected the warm glow of Matano. It seared his eyes, but his body and mind craved it. A quilt of a billion stars spread above their heads. It was always high noon at this end of Quilla Station, but it was not a workday, and at this time by the clock Hadfield Plaza was totally deserted: apart from one man, standing unobtrusively on the lip of a viewing platform on the far side. Bashir keyed his omni, and when he saw the answering flash from his sister's device he released a breath he didn't know he had been holding.

"Frankie, I've loaded some credits for you. I'm going over there" - he pointed - "to talk with that guy. I want you to get breakfast. Sit outside with it right here. Don't go out of my sight."

Frankie nodded. He couldn't tell whether she avoided his gaze because she was angry or because she was scared. _Fuck if I know, either._ Bashir gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"Ten minutes, tops. Have whatever you like. Then back to the docks and right onto the tour ship. Okay?"

She picked her way between chairs towards the cafe behind them. Turning away, Bashir groped in his jacket pocket for a cigarette, lit one as he crossed the plaza. His contact presented carefully affected nonchalance. It was fake. As was his. Tension and worry coursed through him like electric current.

Unusually, Ed Furuya wore a well cut civilian suit. Charcoal grey with cream trim. Black gloves. Everything about him was intentionally unremarkable. He was a stealth operator: small, slim, unassuming. The two men were chalk and cheese. That was what they liked about each other.

Ed's nostrils flared at the smoke. "They still smell foul, Lawson. When are you giving up?"

"Screw you. Shit like this doesn't make it any easier." Bashir exhaled away from them. "It's good to see you."

"Likewise." Ed bowed toward him slightly, before refocusing on something distant. "Is that your sister?"

"Yeah. She's growing into a prissy little madam." Bashir held smoke in his lungs. "Good kid, really. We're catching a tour boat in around an hour."

"Its a great view." Ed caught Bashir's elbow, drew them together. Spoke low." I'll skip right to the good stuff, then."

"I'm curious to see what got you so worked up you couldn't put it on the QEC."

"My _career_ is, Lawson, that's what," Ed hissed. He was in Alliance Cryptologics. The words stung, as they were meant to. Ed shook his head. "Look. We go back a long time. So I want to make this clear. This is _one time only_. If I ever get caught fucking around like this, it's nighty-night for me."

Bashir flushed with guilt. He had washed out of the Alliance inside six months. He knew how much the military meant to his friend, but wrapped him up in this all the same. _Thoughtless_. He thought Ed would understand. He began to realise he might have asked for too much.

"I know. Ed, I owe you. You were the only person I could think of to call." He crushed the end of his cigarette underfoot, lit another by reflex.

"We'll call it even. Now, before you drive yourself insane I should be clear that I haven't found any hard proof on anything. But I've seen some interesting patterns. Reading between the lines - something big is up." The other man's eyes strafed the middle distance, keeping lookout.

"Tell me something I _don't_ know. For fuck's sake." Ed ignored him. His omnitool pulsed to signal the arrival of a new data packet. _Shit_.

"Intel on the _SSV Malakoff's_ current mission is currently knocked down tighter than a gnat's ass. Suspect it's single terminal, eyes only. But I did find a crew manifest on the Alliance database, around a month old. There's a young Corporal aboard - Kaidan Vega. Passed basic around six years after us."

"Interesting why?" Bashir asked.

"Really, Lawson? That name's nearly as infamous as yours." Ed continued when it became clear Bashir wasn't forthcoming. "His father is Admiral Vega. Served with Commander Shepard back in eighty-six."

"Right. Meaning?"

"Nothing, by itself. But with your parents, on the same ship? On a mission where the record is _already_ sealed? Those are planet-sized coincidences. Too damn big."

"I guess so," Bashir conceded.

Ed reached up to rub the back of his neck. Whatever he'd done next, he was not comfortable with. "So - God help me - I took a look at the Admiral. Listen to this. He made a call into Quilla Station around twenty seven hours ago. Into the Institute. Specifically, to your mother." Ed was reeling him in.

"That was around 0340. After which, as we know, she made straight for the Malakoff."

Bashir pulled even harder on his cigarette, scratched his beard. "The comms in her quarters have top grade encryption -"

" - and his will too, so no way I can get a voice record, no." Ed leaned on the railing of the platform, spoke down into his chest. "But I wasn't finished yet. He made two further calls. To his ex-wife, and the Quarian Councillor, Tali'Zorah. Both served with Shepard in eighty three - and eighty-six."

Ed had given him shards of an important whole. But no matter how he turned them around in his mind, assembled and reassembled them, Bashir couldn't work out how they fit together. His biotics flared with embarrassment and frustration. He felt slow. Ed could read that much; his immediate grasp on Bashir's arm earthed him.

"Thank you. Fuck if I know what it all means right now. But I won't forget it."

Ed made to leave. "You might not have to work it all out solo, you know. Or at all. Vega's coming here. He'll dock with the_Damavand_ at thirteen hundred. Make of that what you will. Just don't kill him."

And he melted away, as Bashir knew he would.

* * *

The din made by Grunt and Jack and the girl faded behind Miranda as she crossed the floor. The restroom was located on the other side of the compound. She thumbed the control, then locked herself in. She just needed a few moments to collect her thoughts, review their options. Glyph's superficial relief masked deep mistrust. Inevitably, it reflected in their own reactions toward him, and the problem spiralled. They had to get to the root of the issue. That presently felt impossible.

Miranda had an urge to pace the floor, but knew that she might be overheard. She settled for perching on the side of a deep bathtub, ivory sides reflecting the intense glare of overhead spotlights. After the relaxed lighting of the living area, the brightness made it a struggle to concentrate. She startled at her reflection in a mirror on the opposite wall. As a twenty year old krogan, Grunt was still fresh faced; Jack's meds had restored a healthy flush to her cheeks - though that, too, was another mask. But Miranda barely recognised herself. The harsh lights were only partly responsible. Her eyes were black; her hair lank and stuck to her scalp; skin sallow, lips pale. Dried indigo blood ringed her neck, just visible inside the collar of her armour. Why Naya hadn't fled screaming, Miranda didn't know. _I would have._

Miranda administered the last of her own stims with clumsy fingers. She didn't perk, as she had before. But she felt somewhat better. Like Jack, Miranda was reaching the limits of her own endurance.

By her own estimation she had, at best, four hours. Jack had less. Beyond that horizon a dark curtain would fall; and with Glyph around, Miranda wasn't sure it would rise again.

Swallowing back nausea, Miranda ground the heels of her palms into her eye sockets. _Think_.

Glyph was unarmed. Overpowering him should be easy - especially with Grunt. But Glyph could target the child. Or make her a shield. He could have defenses they were, as yet, unaware of. Like EDI, his physical chassis was rock solid. She and Jack were no longer operating at anything like peak performance. They were weakening. The result of a physical confrontation was far from a foregone conclusion.

She dismissed the idea. _The risk of Naya becoming collateral damage is too bloody high._

Another option was to talk reasonably. The idea sounded fatuous, even to her own mind. Glyph was shackled, and would be unable to react rationally if it conflicted with his programming, whatever his personal views. Breaking the shackles would be an unacceptably high risk.

A third possibility broke the surface of Miranda's mind, tethered to the second. That they were feeding off one another's paranoia, a toxic byproduct of sleep deprivation and hyper-lucidity. No matter how loudly Miranda's instincts sounded the alarm, they might be wrong.

_For once, I don't have the answer. I don't know what the hell to do._ Miranda moved closer to the mirror. She slapped cold water onto her face. It only seemed to intensify the tight band of pain at her temples. Thoughts slurred together. _I need to find out where he keeps his brain._

She left the bathroom quietly. Rather than return to the group - where she could hear Jack still holding court loudly - she pressed a door access to her left. It opened onto a spacious room, made to feel even bigger with the addition of banks of holo-projectors along two walls. They opened out onto a calm Thessian forest. Knowing how deeply buried they were underground, the effect on Miranda was dizzying, surreal. The door shut behind her, sealing her safely inside.

Miranda took in her surroundings. She tried not to be distracted by the artificial view, boughs shivering in a breeze heavy with eezo. She avoided looking at the double bed at the other side of the room. Her gaze fell on the picture frames above it. More Shepard. Some other people, none she could name. A pale blue asari with kind brown eyes; a matriarch with navy lips. A pile of children's books and datapads was haphazard at the far side of the bed. Naya had not graduated to sleeping in her own room all the time. A Prothean memory shard sat on a bedside table. All things considered, there was very little evidence of Glyph in the room at all.

The next room Miranda tried was comfortable, small and spartan. Quiet. Shelving lined the walls, stacked with datapads and and what appeared to be primitive artefacts. A black cushion lay in the centre of the floor, itself covered with reed matting. Some kind of meditation room? She raked her eyes up and down the shelves. She didn't know what she was looking for, only that she hadn't found it yet.

Miranda noticed a painting fixed to the wall around a foot from the ground, at eye height for the cross-legged. The picture was no more than a chaotic swirl of daubed paint, but she had seen enough of her own children's early art to translate. A man with yellow hair holding the hand of a blue girl. Wide U-shaped grins completed the image. Curiously, Liara was absent. Miranda was elated. _This is his room_ -

"Getting your bearings, Ms Lawson?"

_Fuck_. Miranda whirled. The door whirred shut behind him. They were alone, and Glyph's smile was vulpine.

She crossed her arms. There was no use in dissembling. "Actually, I was trying to get the measure of you."

"I see." Glyph clasped his hands in front of him. "Have I been insufficiently accommodating?"

"Not at all. You've been the perfect host, Glyph."

Miranda was not sure she could do disarming in her exhausted state, but she tried. He accepted the insincere compliment with a graceful incline of the head.

"And yet - you have misgivings."

Miranda gestured to the picture. "You care about her very much. I was trying to ascertain precisely how much."

"I will be explicit on this point, Ms Lawson." Glyph's inflexion was utterly flat; smooth, like obsidian. "There are no limits to how far I might go to protect her from threats."

"Was Liara a threat?" Miranda's mouth was suddenly dry. She swallowed.

His reply was too quick."Of course not."

"Are we, Glyph?"

"You tell me."

She shook her head. Opened her palms."Our objective is to rescue Naya. Neutralise opposition or - obstruction."

Glyph pulled his mouth into a cordial smile. Teeth glinted. "And as you have no doubt realised, no rescue is required."

Miranda didn't understand."Glyph, if Liara is out of the picture, we need to take care of her. Naya's developing fast. She needs to be socialised. She needs to be around other people. Other asari. Keeping her here isn't an option."

"I disagree."

"Glyph, I don't mean to suggest we just abandon you here." Miranda's mouth was full of grit; it was hard to push the words out. "Let me be clear. You're obviously central to her life. It should stay that way. We want you to come with us. We have no intention to separate the the two of you."

He tapped his foot. He was toying with her. "Then you have not given this the necessary thought. I am a person distinct from my memory banks, but all the same they are a part of me. I _am_ Doctor T'Soni's knowledge and power. If I am exposed, it would start a war. My life would be forfeit."

"We could protect you, Glyph. Christ, you could hire your own private army if you wanted."

His tone was condescending. "As long as I remain hidden, Ms Lawson, I have no need to."

Glyph glided closer. He was repellent. Gooseflesh rose on Miranda's arms and thighs. His voice stayed flat, but all pretense at friendship had bled away.

"Let _me_ be clear now. I will not leave. But I will not be parted from her. You see my predicament."

Miranda stared. _Yes. And mine._

She understood that she may never have been as close to death as she was in this place. Over a long and frequently dangerous life, that was quite the achievement. Miranda fought down the desire to rake her fingernails across his face. She willed her mind to work more, faster. She chose her words with deliberate care.

"There's an Alliance frigate orbiting this asteroid. They know about Liara's message. And that we're down here. You must understand, Glyph - you're _already_ exposed."

She hoped her mask held. Fear snarled underneath.

"Not true. You are free to go whenever you wish - provided that you report nothing." His voice snapped back to normal, as though he was merely conversing about the weather.

"And if you stay away from what's mine, I'll stay away from what's yours, Ms Lawson."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Grunt barely had room to move his head but he tried to look around anyway. The whole situation was bizarre. He perched awkwardly on the rim of a bulkhead in the child's room. It was barely wide enough to take half his ass. His gigantic bulk filled half the space in the tiny room. The other half contained Jack, Naya, a small bed. All the child's toys. They were Lilliputian. _Maybe this is how Jack felt in the elevator_. Grunt's muscles burned with a suppressed urge to stretch up, break the walls down. Instead, he accepted another toy from the child's pudgy fingers, nodded to show his approval. _Heh_. Naya beamed at him, scurried to find another offering. The pile between his feet was growing.

Grunt was glad when Glyph stepped out. He smelled off, like a bad wound. The whole place did. Another lair of another Shadow Broker. Go figure. The forced normality down here was all wrong. Liara must have been sick in the head. No wonder Glyph was queer. He wondered if any crazy had rubbed off on the kid.

"Wait a hundred years, you got yourself a girlfriend there. She likes you." Jack's eyes shone with amusement. She was panting slightly.

"What? This is - real annoying."

"That's a pretty big crush she's got. She's just trying to impress you, Grunt. Damn funny." Jack stretched her injured foot out in front, away from Naya. She craned her head to see into the main room. Her brow furrowed.

"Shut up. Can you see them?"

Jack said nothing. _That's a no, then_. Grunt was unfazed. Jack obviously was. Something was wrong with her right arm. She moved it with her left hand. She glared at Grunt, defiant, daring him to call her on it. He wasn't stupid. He looked elsewhere.

Every wall was plastered with posters and pictures: numbers (1 to 100), races (asari to yahg), planets (Antibaar to Zafe), letters (_um, pass_). An Alliance recruiting poster with fighter craft in formation.

Naya jumped onto her bed to see where Jack was looking, hit the leg. Grunt heard her breath catch. She swore under her breath. Her mask fell for a moment. Grunt saw pain, desperation in her face. He held his claw out to the child.

"Naya. Come sit with me." The child charged at him headfirst. Laughing. Over-excited. He gathered her up and settled her in his lap. Blue hands came up to the rim of his armour. He could handle rachni; handling an asari baby spooked him more. Especially this one. His paternal instincts reared, knocked him back. Now she was staring at his mouth.

"Your teeth are _huge_."

He deadpanned."I like eating kids. Especially blue ones." She responded by pushing her forearm into his mouth. Grunt nearly choked. _Oh, hell._ He spat it out. Naya wriggled. He dandied her on his knee.

"This kind of thing normal?"

"Yup." Jack cocked her head. "You might be being a _little_ bit too rough, there, Grunt." Naya was bouncing violently. As far as he could see, she seemed to like it, but he dialed it down a little. Least it stopped her meddling with him. He couldn't understand why Jack was doing the same thing with her right leg. It was bouncing, seemingly beyond her control.

"Guessing you're not too hands on with your own." Jack cocked an eyebrow.

"More sharp edges on younglings. They're much more... self reliant. Krogan lifespans match asari, but we have a habit of getting ourselves killed. Even after the genophage." Grunt considered. "I'm beginning to think I'd like to be."

"You make a cute couple."

"So what's the plan now?" he asked.

"_Fu_- damned if I know. Something tells me we're not -" her breath hitched again - "packing her bags and breezing out of here."

"Agreed." He badly wanted another shot at Glyph. Even he knew that would be dangerous. "You think that's what they're talking about? Him and Miranda?"

"Do I look like a mind reader?" She rubbed her neck, anger spiking and ebbing back. "Sorry. Truth is, I don't know - what we're gonna do."

"I wanna rip-" Jack didn't let him finish.

"No. Too dangerous. Unless we're all - done for, don't go there." Jack eyed Naya thoughtfully. She was losing her breath. "We don't have a lot of options. Not with - her in the middle."

Naya twisted off Grunt's lap, rummaged for a toy medkit from the mound between his feet. She approached Jack's leg like a wounded animal. Finally, she reached out to pat it warily, looking up at Jack. Grunt saw her force a smile. Jack pulled her up onto the bed next to her, away from the ankle. He could see it took some effort. She wrapped one arm around the girl.

"Thanks, doc. That feels - _much_ better. You know, you remind me of someone." Naya's toes curled in pleasure at her accomplishment. She burrowed into Jack, who smiled. She fumbled a command into her omnitool. A serious child, all narrow jaw and thick eyebrows, appeared in front of them both. Grunt leaned forward for a better look. Jack never asked to see his clutch. He had never seen her tankbred. Not their kind of conversation. Naya was fascinated.

"That's Frankie. She used to - love playing doctor when she was - well, sorta your age, anyway." Jack's throat constricted. "She'd like you."

"_Really_, Jack?"

Jack nodded. "Would you like to meet her?"

Grunt could see her mind churning. Naya looked like she'd been told some mythical creature actually existed. She had never met another child. They were things to be watched in vids or read about in stories. Grunt supposed she was feeling what he had when Shepard told him the galaxy was full of other krogan, just like him. Imprints just weren't the same. No matter how vivid.

_Yes_, Naya breathed. Her eyes were wide. But her mouth didn't move. Grunt _felt_ the answer from her, like a whisper rippling over the surface of his mind. Looked like the same had happened to Jack. There was a really strange look on Jack's face. Humans could be hard to understand sometimes, but Jack's expression was undreadable. Naya looked surprised herself.

When Jack found her voice again, it was weak. "Did you know you could do that?"

Naya shook her head. Whatever connection was there, Grunt knew it had gone. It was reabsorbed gently back into Naya's consciousness, like water soaking into the ground. A look of intense want was left on the kid's face.

"Mama does it sometimes." She knelt up, put her hands on either side of Jack's neck. Jack rallied, tweaked the end of Naya's nose softly.

"Well, we'll have to - ask Glyph nicely if he'll let - you visit."

Grunt wondered if the connection ran both ways.

* * *

There was some _extremely_ serious shit on the datapads Kaidan found piled on the floor. He and Commander Marshall were gathering them together for analysis on the ship. Honestly, he was just relieved to be inside. Repairing the elevator had burned their oxygen reserves down to the wick. He spotted red sand consignments; a manifest of purchases made by the Turian Primarch; the classified location of an Ardat-Yakshi. A complete list of Spectre authorisation codes. Stuff he was tempted by, but was too hot to touch.

Beta Squad's mission briefing had been riddled with holes, and he was sure as hell certain Liara T'Soni was no normal information broker. Pressly's squad selection begin to make more sense. Maybe it was never Pressly's at all.

What didn't make sense, however, was the absence of Alpha Squad. They had come down here and disappeared.

* * *

"Hey, beautiful. Checking me out?"

Jack's breathing now came in shallow rasps. She was gasping more and more air in, and it never felt enough. The leer she intended wouldn't fix, slid right off her face. All suggestiveness in her voice fell flat. Fuck.

Miranda's face appeared in front of her. "At least your woeful sense of humour is still in action. You look like shit." Her fingertips stroked through Jack's hair. Jack loved that touch. She felt peaceful. Warm.

"Right back at - you, princess."

Glyph was with Naya in the kitchen. Fixing food for her. Hearing primed in their direction. Grunt had followed, hoping for something, but the android offered them none. Jack didn't mind. She had no appetite anyway.

Jack was disintegrating.

Fingers pressed softly to her neck, checking her pulse. She didn't need Miranda to tell her it was bad. She knew. Her heartbeat was weak, stop-start. Sometimes it threatened to flutter out of her chest. It made her feel sick, light-headed. When Miranda's face swung back into view, all colour had gone. Her lips were white.

"You and Glyph. Talk about anything - interesting?"

Miranda wouldn't meet her look. She busied herself making Jack more comfortable. Jack didn't want to be cosseted. She swatted Miranda's hands away with her good arm.

"What happened?"

Miranda's eyes were bright with unshed tears. Anger and something else. Fear. Not for herself. For Jack.

"That bad? - Tell me."

The tremor in Jack's leg shook the rest of her body. Miranda applied gentle pressure. It reassured her. They talked without speaking, a knack evolved from more than two decades of close contact. Jack understood from Miranda's subtle changes of expression that Glyph had made a threat. That he wanted them to leave.

"So he's - fucking batshit crazy. Knew it." Jack spoke aloud. Miranda pressed a finger to Jack's lips. _Shh_. Jack pouted them slightly, turning Miranda's warning into a kiss. Miranda took a ragged breath, steadied herself. Jack knew what Miranda wanted to do. She was ready to take her out of here.

"_Fuck_ no. Miri, no. _Not_ without her." She put as much force behind her words as she was able. Miranda's reply was barely whispered but Jack caught every word.

"I can't lose you, Jack." Her voice cracked. Jack reached for her hand, kissed it again. Spent all her effort to keep the smile fixed on her face. Sweat beaded on her forehead.

"Course you won't - dumbass. But I couldn't live with - myself if we - bugged out now. Neither could you." Jack knew Glyph was listening, didn't care. She knew Miranda would concede the point.

Miranda wiped her cheeks with the back of one hand. She left tracks of dirt on her face.

"Bullshit, Jack."

"I love you too." She pulled Miranda into her. Their lips touched, parted. Miranda's mouth was warm and soft. Salty. The kiss deepened. A hand reached up to cradle the back of Jack's head. Raw. When she pulled back, Miranda's eyes were angry.

"Don't you _dare_, Jack. Don't you do that."

"Wouldn't dream - of it. When this is - over, I'm getting - laid."

That made Miranda smile. Jack's heart swelled. That half roll of her eyes told her Miranda's fight was back. "You're such an arse."

"Yeah." _Shit, I'm full of ideas today_. Jack was still holding her hand. She began to tap out a message into the pad of Miranda's palm. _She was an operative. She'll get it._ A half-remembered code swam to the front of her mind.

_Gonna crash out soon._

_Use it._

They both froze. Fists were hammering on the compound's front door.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

A/N. If the violence and swearing didn't put this fully into the M category before now, then the contents of this chapter certainly will. Skip the first scene if you don't like sex; skip the last scene if you don't like violence. Skip the whole thing if you don't like either. And please be gentle... it's my first time.

But I hope it works, and I hope you like it. I'd love to know what you think. Thanks, as ever, to all followers and reviewers, without whom it would be so much more difficult to write.

* * *

_Jack's wanderings take her further from the hospital each day. Locals say temperatures like this are unheard of. Its likely the crap hurled into atmosphere by the war. The days are long, hot, languid. Jack's natural olive skin tone deepens to bronze. It is high summer, and the land is ripe. She comes across an overnight shelter in a secluded spot. It's around an hour from the facility on foot. An idea springs fully-formed into her mind._

_In a week she will be redeployed, far from Earth. It's a welcome step but its too soon. Neither is inexperienced, but neither showed much interest in women before. Neither can bear the idea of this going badly. Anyone blaming Jack's recovery or Miranda's schedule would be wrong. There's an unspoken dread that something just won't work._

_They walk side by side. Sol hangs still. The ground rises smoothly ahead of them. Their fingers brush, now and then. Conversation is light. Jack's numb, as though she's watching herself from somewhere else._

_Finally, as the hospital passes out of sight, they link hands. Jack blushes. Feels right. Feels stupid not to. They both know what they're about to do._

_Jack spreads a soft blanket on the ground outside the shelter, hidden in long grass. The air is golden. They prop themselves on elbows, look up at the cloudless sky._

_A beat. And then Miranda presses a hot, possessive kiss to the column of Jack's neck. Jack flares; can't help it. Jack closes her eyes, drags Miranda's mouth to her own._

_Miranda's lips are searing; her tongue is firm. Jack's arm circles to the small of her back, crushing their bodies together. The kiss is so heady, she never wants to break it. But Miranda, whip-sharp, pushes her hips forward, straddles her. Jack's surprised, bolts upright. Now she's eye level with Miranda's breasts. Her lips quiver; mere inches separate them from Miranda's skin._

_She looks up. Miranda quirks an eyebrow, smirks. She presents confidence but her breathing's unsteady as she guides Jack's hands, slow, to the zipper of her top. Blue-grey eyes lock on Jack's as she finally takes her cue and shrugs it from Miranda's shoulders. The sun is a corona around Miranda's head._

_She wears nothing underneath. The new expanse of alabaster skin overloads Jack. Miranda's fingertips reach down, stroke over Jack's hard stomach and then her waist as she feels for the hem of her vest; pulls it in one fluid motion over her head. But it's tight, and it gets stuck, and when it's finally removed Jack's new mohican is standing on end. Miranda smoothes it affectionately, touch ghosting over the rims of Jack's ears. Their skin is already damp with sweat._

_Before she can think, Jack experiments. She pulls Miranda's breast into her mouth. Her tongue is flush against a hardening nipple. She sucks gently. Jack's hands are on her waist and she feels the muscles of Miranda's back snap taut, arching into the sensation. A low moan rises from Miranda's throat. Jack realises she is incredibly wet. And, suddenly, incredibly self conscious._

_She leans back. Jack's body is ugly - boyish - next to Miranda's voluptuousness. Why would Miranda want this? Her new skin is being re-inked, but much of it is still empty. It leaves Jack naked, vulnerable. Miranda sees the flicker of her self-doubt, pushes her firmly down onto the blanket. She presses her weight between Jack's legs. Her hips jerk upward in response._

_Miranda's head bends, drops kisses along Jack's collarbone. Jack shudders. She swipes the pad of her thumb over one nipple, before swirling her tongue over the other and releasing it from her mouth with a soft pop. Jack swears, groans. She twines her fingers into Miranda's dark hair as her face reappears. She feathers over the scar that runs from Miranda's forehead to cheek._

_Miranda's eyes say it all. But she tells Jack she is beautiful anyway; and Jack believes her. _

_Miranda rolls off her to undo Jack's belt. But Jack's newly emboldened. She flips them so their previous positions are reversed. Miranda looks curiously at her. Jack knows that sex is normally a power play for both of them. Neither of them are used to relinquishing control. But she'll give Miranda anything she wants._

_The shift of Jack's body weight is an unspoken question. In answer, Miranda's palms slide down over her ass, taking Jack's pants with them. Taking her time. Jack's hips rise just long enough to allow the action. Jack's naked first._

_There's new urgency in their need to be fully skin to skin, and Jack practically rips the rest of Miranda's clothing off. She's afraid she's hurt her but there's need in Miranda's gaze as she opens her thighs and pulls Jack tight between them. Jack understands. Miranda trusts her enough to give up control; Jack trusts her enough to take it._

_Miranda's eyelids are heavy as Jack begins to rock back and forth over Miranda's centre, their shared slickness intensifying it. Miranda grabs Jack's hand and pushes downward. She gives a soundless sigh as Jack slips two fingers inside her; then three; then four._

_Movements quicken. Jack curls her fingers towards her, come-here, and the violent buck of Miranda's hips tell her she's onto something good. She tastes sweet. Miranda squeezes against her hand, pulling her further inside, and good god if this isn't amazing -_

_Now they're fucking, hard, and Miranda's lengthening every thrust of Jack's hand into her and holding onto Jack with everything she has and looking not at Jack, but into her. For the first time in her life, Jack allows it. She holds her head over Miranda's to stop the afternoon sun from getting into her eyes. She kisses her as Miranda contracts around her fingers, cries out, comes. Pride, relief and want crash over Jack. She does not remove her hand for another quarter hour._

_Later, after they swap roles, forget them and burn in the sun, Jack rests her head on Miranda's chest, gazing up at Earth's moon._

_Perfect. There had never been anything to fear._

* * *

Jack's arm was slung heavy across Miranda's shoulders. Glyph sized them up as Miranda guided her across the open space, expressionless. Insistent pounding persisted at the front door. Naya was clamped to his chest with an iron grip.

They had never raised the lights; metal and glass glinted in the semi-dark. He cast a long shadow across the room.

Hatred scythed through Miranda. This thing threatened her. He was using a child as a shield. He was a coward. But a dangerous one.

Miranda was certain. _If we call out to Beta Squad, he'll wring her neck._

Jack propped herself up against the high arm of the couch with her good leg on the floor, letting her assume a semi-standing position. She crossed her arms - a challenge - but her movements were choppy. She was already veering in and out of reality. Her breathing was more laboured than before.

_She'll die on her feet before she lives on her knees._

Nobody spoke.

Miranda's combat senses leapt to life. Glyph stood dead ahead in the space at the centre. She was closer to him than Grunt, who glowered some distance behind, at the door leading to Liara's room. Weapons were where the group had left them on the kitchen island, out of Naya's sight and reach.

_Bloody fools._

She boosted her tech armour, limbs running cold as a mesh of light closed around her abdomen.

_This is it._

The android drew himself up to his full height, as if cornered by a pack of wolves. His eyes darted back and forth.

Naya's eyes were tight shut. She knew something was wrong; she just didn't know what. She shut out the world.

A dark smile was smeared across Jack's face.

"Game's, up, motherfucker." Her head slumped forward as she slurred the words.

Glyph assessed and dismissed Jack in a heartbeat.

_Good_.

Miranda took one step away from Jack; then another. She sidestepped once. Again.

Jack was right; leaving without Naya had never been an option. She kept her hands loose at her sides.

"You can still come with us. We can forget about this."

She had to find a way to dislodge Naya without injuring her. Her voice was level, reasonable.

"They might go away for a while, Glyph, but you know they'll be back."

He was silent. She gestured at the door. Appealing. The noise stopped.

As Miranda edged forward, Glyph edged back. Naya's face was creased with fear and confusion. She hid her face in his chest.

Grunt was still too far away to be a significant threat, but he smacked his fists together. Growled. When he spoke, his voice was unnaturally calm.

"We're taking Naya out of here. You can come with us. Or I will rip you limb from limb. You decide."

Miranda calculated. _Using tech or biotics will injure Naya. Or kill her outright. So could one badly aimed bullet, come to that. We have to put some distance between them._

And: _What psychological scars will this leave her?_

"This life isn't good for her, Glyph, and you know it," Miranda murmured, almost to herself.

His movements were compact, precise. Defensive. He glanced, almost sorrowful, down at Naya's back. He inched toward the kitchen.

"All I asked for was to be left _alone_," he hissed. "Why didn't you just leave?"

He was playing for time.

"She's not your possession, Glyph. Give her to us. Please."

In response, he took another step back. Bile rose in Miranda's stomach, but she advanced. Grunt did too, faster. Glyph's eyes swerved to track the krogan, and back. Miranda wheeled around the android.

Grunt's growl was louder this time. Another distraction. Letting her close in.

"Listen to the human. If I get the chance, I'll kill you where you stand."

Grunt was too large to attack Glyph directly while he still held the child, or while Miranda herself was at close quarters.

_I'm knight and Grunt's queen. Time for a sacrifice move._

An errant thought. _Is Jack pawn or king?_

The air around Jack hummed. Miranda's entire body felt the change before it happened.

The seizure began before Jack hit the floor. She toppled forward, face first. Her head crashed into the ground with a nauseating crack.

Jack's body sprawled. Fists bunched beneath her torso. She shook violently, uncontrollably. The whites of her eyes were burning into Miranda even though she refused to look.

Miranda was braced for this in theory.

But the reality shattered her heart.

Her legs jerked erratically; spittle pooled in the corners of her mouth as she wheezed air into collapsing lungs. Her veins bulged under clammy skin.

For a moment, Glyph's attention was diverted wholly onto Jack. Where it needed to be.

_Now or never._

The split second distraction was all Miranda needed.

She took a half step forward, snapped her knee high and her leg straight out in a biotically-powered kick.

It connected with brutal force. Relief swept over her as she felt her biotics discharge from the ball of her foot across his body. It knocked him off balance. He staggered backwards. But he still clutched Naya in a one-handed grip.

There was shock in his eyes. He didn't believe she would really do it. Not with the child in such proximity. Or with Jack's life ebbing from her on the floor.

_Fucking believe it._

Miranda was closer now, and she had the advantage. She sprang forward. A jab arced over Naya's head, landed on his jaw.

Blue blaze swept over over him as her biotics multiplied the force of the blow. Glyph raised his arm to his face.

Naya fell from his grasp.

Something registered that her hand was badly injured, but the pain was blocked, subsumed in the triumph Miranda felt at prising Naya free.

_Must force him away._

Miranda's breaths came fast and shallow. She couldn't see her but she knew Naya was still too close for her to warp. Her tech armour was only good for a few more moves.

They had to count. Her heart hammered in her throat.

She took hold of Glyph's shoulders, shoved. She grunted with effort. Her knee crunched into his midsection. Pure agony streaked away from her kneecap as it drove into metal. His centre of gravity careened backwards.

Naya and Jack were now well behind them. Miranda held nothing back. There was no retreat and no escape.

Jack's hardsuit clattered along the floor as her convulsions intensified.

Miranda tried to pull back, to let Grunt in. She couldn't. She was held fast, as though magnetized. A mechanical hand snapped around her omnitool on her wrist. She saw the gory pulp of her knuckles where her strike had hit solid titanium.

Exhilaration was eclipsed by fear._ Too close._

All breath was expelled from her body as Glyph bludgeoned into her side.

A flash of orange light scorched as her tech amour detonated. Its reserves were too depleted to immobilise him, but it flayed the artificial skin from his chassis. Red on metal.

A blur of movement, then hot copper burst from her nose, flowed into her mouth. She was momentarily blind. A headbutt.

Another hammer blow splintered Miranda's cheekbone.

Strangely, she felt it in the roots of her teeth and not her face. Blood poured into the back of her throat.

She choked, started to panic.

Glyph brought his elbow pistoning down onto her collar bone. Miranda felt it snap through her armour. A starburst of pain exploded through her chest.

She reeled, tried to get away. Guard forgotten.

Glyph grabbed her by the neck, raised her aloft. Her windpipe was crushed. All that came out her mouth was a strangled rattle, clotted with blood. Hate and fury glared up at her. She couldn't breathe.

_I'm going to die down here._

The photo from her quarters on Quilla flicked across her mind. She was irrationally angry with herself for leaving it in her leathers. She would have given anything to have it with her now.

Miranda's feet swung desperately, seeking purchase inches above the ground. Shepard's tags dangled. And then she heard a roar, distantly, from another place.

_Grunt -_

A quick forward lurch, and then up and back as Glyph hurled her across the room.

Then there was no time; only space.

She sensed but did not feel a wet crunch as the back of her skull hit the wall. All was numb, as though Miranda was watching herself from somewhere else. She ragdolled onto the floor.

Face down, Miranda registered lights at the edges of her vision. With gritted teeth, she pushed herself into a slump, back against the wall.

She assessed. Nothing was registering below her waist. One arm would not work. Her hair was matted with blood. The world was mute, but there was a vibration coming from behind her.

Beta squad were back at the door. No doubt to hack it.

Her sight was blurred. It was hard to focus. She didn't want to look but she must.

Grunt had Glyph pinned, was goring him. Their brute strength was evenly matched. But Grunt was more experienced.

Glyph's fingers stabbed underneath Grunt's head plate. His head snapped back.

He bellowed. Then they were trading blows.

Miranda's gaze lowered, and she saw two things; Naya, miraculously unharmed, crouched on all fours underneath the dining table; and Jack.

Jack was rigid. Her back arched back on itself in extended spasm. Her lips had turned bluish. She was trying to breathe. Failing. All Miranda could do was watch as she gasped for air, a fish on the riverbank.

And she was conscious. Their eyes met, locked. _God no._

They were both trapped in bodies that no longer obeyed. This was hell. She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

_Jack. It's okay, Jack. Don't be afraid._

Naya ran across the floor on bare feet. The child heard her, somehow. She launched herself at Jack, knelt next to her head.

She was trying to comfort Jack because Miranda could not. Brave. Dangerous. Miranda screamed in her mind.

_Naya! No! Hide!_

The girl's face snapped up as she touched a hand to Jack's cheek. And then she slumped to the floor. Glyph screamed.

_No no no_ -

Miranda dimly glimpsed Grunt's bloodthirsty silhouette as he ripped Glyph's head from his body.

He roared.

Then - an explosion. Shouts. A pulse of blinding light, and Miranda slid into inky black.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

She awoke into silence. Calm.

She was in space. And was the space.

This was a place beyond memory. Beyond cause and effect. A place of pure thought.

There was no beginning, no end. Only forever.

Until a darting light touched upon deep, empty waters. The universe was one, was now two. There was a still, small voice in the darkness.

_Jack? Jack?_

Yes, she thought, it's Jack.

_Don't be afraid._

Afraid? Jack thought.

_Miranda says to not be afraid. _

Jack did not understand.

_What are you?_

An awareness of time welled into Jack's consciousness. She did not want to be reminded of before. She wanted to keep believing here, and her, was all there was.

_Don't be afraid, Jack._

It was a child's voice.

_I'm not._

But the voice trembled.

_I'm scared, Jack._

_Naya? Is that you?_

Weeping. She couldn't hear it but she could feel it.

_It's okay, kid. It's okay. I'm here._

Jack did not know where here was. Some part of herself reached out, brushed against the child's consciousness. Enveloped it. Both were comforted.

_How did you get here?_

The girl didn't know. From the time before, Jack saw her touch, felt her intent. Understood.

Now, Jack was only because Naya was. If she left, the waves on the water, everything that was Jack, would be still. In forever again.

Realisation broke over her, and in its wake Jack knew several things. That she wanted to return. She probably couldn't, but she was still not afraid. And the third, most important thing -

_You should not be here. _

She let go of the child gently. She clung to Jack.

_This place is dangerous for you. _

_But you're here. _She heard Naya's thought. Disbelieving. Trusting.

_You were very brave to come. But you need to go now. _

Naya hesitated.

_Go on. It's okay. I'm okay. Promise. _

Naya's presence receded_._

Jack wanted her kids. She wanted her.

Then the presence returned. The voice was worried.

_I can't. _

And Jack thought: _Shit_.

* * *

Bashir was ready to combust by the time they disembarked. He had tussled with himself all the way to the tour boat. Finally, he had decided to go ahead with the tour before going after Vega. Someone had to put Frankie's needs first. Even it had to be him and not his parents. Wherever they were, they were currently beyond his help. But he couldn't help marring their trip with his black mood.

Now he would have some answers of his own.

Vega had made no attempt to contact him in nearly two days. Bashir hoped the Admiral appreciated a grand entrance. He boiled with white hot rage. He was through with being treated like a fool.

His sister's hand was tight in his as they walked to Alliance Headquarters. The architecture differed from the rest of Quilla; while the rest was open and light, the military sector was a closed, windowless complex. A single door stood at the foot of an immense cliff. He considered leaving Frankie outside, then thought better of it. The safest place to be would be with him. Or perhaps not. But with her, they would hesitate to shoot.

_Probably_.

Frankie's mouth was drawn in a thin line. She nudged into him any chance she got.

"You're not going to hurt anyone, are you?" she asked. Bashir looked down; her blue-gray eyes were wide.

Truthfully, he didn't know.

"Of course not. Just gonna scare them. It'll look bad, though. But I won't be hurting them."

The charge was beginning to build in him. It licked up from the base of his spine, like flame. He pushed it down into his belly, as Jack had taught him; let it coil and heat.

He dropped down to Frankie's eye level, took her shoulders.

"You stay close at all times, okay? But from now on, don't touch me." Her hand slithered out of his grip. Frankie took a step back.

"If there's fighting, I want you to hide. If something happens to me, I want you to run. If that happens, you go to Mum's office. You understand me?"

She nodded. Her skin, usually olive, was pale.

Bashir rose to his feet. The thick hair on the back of his arms was beginning to stand on end.

He was unarmed and though his name registered, he wore a low grade amp. The resulting journey through security was quick. Then they both stood in the base of a narrow atrium. The sides were sheer, high, and pressed in close. Far above, some twenty stories up, the atrium opened onto the stars, but down below all light was a calm, artificial blue.

Bashir reached up to scratch the back of his head, his thicket of disheveled brown hair a convenient cover. He overclocked the amp, feeling the answering shock in his jaw, his balls. An echo of the sickening thrill he once felt as a boy swept through him.

"We're here to see Admiral Vega."

The receptionist was a light skinned woman wearing a navy cap. After a few strokes on the haptic interface in front of her, she looked up at him, nonplussed.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Tell him Bashir Lawson is here to see him."

He eyed the room. Eight armed marines. None biotic; he would have felt it.

He was a crucible. Bashir compressed more energy into the pit of his stomach; limitless, impossible amounts.

_Impossible for others, perhaps. Not for me._

The sheer audacity of what he was about to do almost gave him pause. But Vega obviously couldn't give a flying fuck about him or Frankie. This was just the consequence of his lack of concern.

_It won't hurt, anyway. Either way._

"If you don't have an appointment, sir, I will have to ask you to leave. The Admiral doesn't accept unsolicited visitors." Her tone was unapologetic.

"I don't think you understand."

She jerked her chin at him. Insolent. "Sir. I don't think _you _understand -"

Realised her error. Too late.

Then there was a silver flash chased by a clap of thunder; and every object not screwed down bounced fifty feet into the air.

Papers, weapons, equipment, furniture - marines - swirled helplessly above. Shouts from upper floors sounded the alarm.

Bashir sharpened all his rage and confusion into a single point of precise control. He held Frankie glued to the ground with one hand, behind him, and began to circle the other around his head, fingers splayed wide; faster. Swirling became a whirlwind. A spout of pure energy extended upwards.

_Fuck, I feel alive. _Euphoria was tempered, as it always was, by guilt.

A shriek rent the air, died away.

Moments later, a bark.

"You got my attention. Stop."

He looked up, through the fluorescence of his biotic field, and saw the Admiral gripping a balustrade several floors above. His knuckles were white. A slim figure, large eyes luminous with reflected glow, brass neck rings protecting her elongated neck, stood next to him. She chose her words deliberately.

"My rocket drone is trained on the back of your head, _bosh'tet_. I _strongly _advise you comply."

He recognised that thickly-accented voice from news vids. Her vowels were flat and her consonants burred.

"I want some answers," he shouted up. "Or I will _fuck this shit up_."

Vega murmured something to the quarian, who did a double take from the balcony. She replied.

"You won't. I know you don't want to hurt anyone. And we don't want to hurt you."

"Fuck yourself. You don't know anything about me."

Vega called down. "I understand you're angry, Lawson. Please. Put everything down. Step in the elevator. Ride it to the eighth floor. We'll be waiting for you."

"How can I trust you?"

Tali'Zorah vas Normandy scoffed. "You're the one destroying the lobby. I don't think you get to ask that question." But out of the corner of his eye, he saw her drone flicker and disappear.

He lowered his hand, and the whirlwind slowed as the contents of the field sank back down to the ground. He replaced the marines carefully, lying face down. One zealot raised himself onto hands and knees too fast and vomited as Bashir and Frankie stepped into the elevator.

As the door shut behind them, Bashir sagged against the wall. He was soaked with sweat. His every follicle was sensitized, and he started to shiver. Frankie fished in her bag for a protein bar. She passed it to him wordlessly.

"I wasn't afraid, Bash," she said, words thick with awe. Bashir swallowed the bar whole.

"You should have been," he breathed. _Fuck._

True to their word, Vega and Tali'Zorah met him as the elevator opened opened onto the eighth floor. Bashir hadn't seen many unmasked quarians up close before. Growing up on Chasca, he had seen too many of Vega's type - arrogant silverbacks. Vega tried to pose himself neutrally, planting his hands on his hips, but he couldn't disguise his hostility. They began to walk up a narrow corridor. Frankie worked her hand back into his.

Vega's jaw ground. "That was a god-damned crazy stunt you just pulled, _cabron_."

Bashir fronted him. Flippant.

"Worked though, didn't it?."

"You were ten seconds away from being sniped."

"No I wasn't. You've been waiting for me. You know why I'm here." He flicked one eyebrow. "I took a calculated risk to achieve a specific objective."

Tali's eyes narrowed. Comparing him.

Bashir rolled his eyes. "You've checked already. You know everybody's fine, or I'd be dead. So back the fuck off, Vega."

Tali placed a restraining hand on the Admiral's arm. Muscles bunched. He could see the older man swallow back a retort.

_Good. Back in your box, you old bastard._

Tali tried to intercede. "Impressive biotics. They looked like they were pulled straight from the vids. I wouldn't have believed it had I not seen with my own eyes."

"Blame my parents. It's Mom, mostly. Then when I outgrew Grissom Academy, I trained under Justicar Cambaya on Chalkhos."

Vega cut in. "Didn't think the Justicars took disciples of other species."

"I wasn't one." _Smartass. But Irem was._

Vega appeared to push away any lingering animus, but Bashir could tell it took some effort.

"Figures. I heard you were good, but - hey. I guess I thought your parents were, uh, embellishing."

They entered a conference room with a large, brightly polished table in the centre and a comfortable couch lining the wall. Takeaway boxes, datapads and the Admiral's dress jacket were strewn across surfaces and over chairs. Bashir chose a seat at the table. Tali sat on the couch and beckoned Frankie to her. Vega remained standing, crossing to the other side of the table.

"So. I want some answers. My mother gets a vidcom from you and poof, they're both gone."

"Bashir, I owe you an apology. Miranda - said Jack would stay with you guys. There wasn't time to explain everything. I tried to reach Jack, couldn't. I didn't realise she'd already set off in pursuit."

"Then you don't know Jack."

Tali nodded her agreement.

"And pardon me, but you didn't try fucking hard enough. If you had you would have come through to me."

"Like I said. I'm sorry. I hauled ass to get myself here as quick as I could. You want some food? Thought you might, on account of the fireworks down there. I can call down for some."

"No." Bashir enunciated every syllable, as though addressing a fool. "I want you to tell me what the fuck is going on."

Vega leaned back on the opposite wall. "The mission is Alliance classified. A search and rescue mission. They're on the return leg now. Due back here in approximately four hours - 2200 galactic standard time."

Bashir's rage began to dissipate. Despite himself, hope bloomed in his chest.

"Nice answer, Vega. But I don't have a press pass. Quit bullshitting me. What would the military want with a pair of middle-aged women on a rescue mission?"

To Bashir the explanation sounded like so much more bullshit.

"So they rescued Liara T'Soni? Why the secrecy?"

Tali interjected, taking Frankie's hand in both her own - to the girl's surprise. She was too polite to remonstrate. "It isn't widely known, but Commander Shepard was in a relationship with her through the war. They wanted to keep that part of their lives private. We have respected that ever since. "

But that might have to change. Fast. Doctor T'Soni wasn't there -" Vega finished.

Bashir hit the jackpot. "But there was a kid."

Frankie's face closed off.

Bashir rubbed his beard, nodding. "That's pretty much the only reason I think you'd get them to agree to something as stupid as your plan. So , they okay?"

A pause. Vega visibly blanched.

"I'm sorry, Bashir, but no. They're not."

And it did not matter that Vega had positioned himself at the opposite end of the room, or that Bashir's biotics were temporarily exhausted, or that deep down he didn't think Vega was a bad man - Bashir decked him.

* * *

The doctor snapped the monitoring cuff from her arm and held out his hand. Jeyda grasped it and slid off the bed. Something like relief welled up from deep within her. It was shrouded with sorrow. She made no effort to re-dress herself. Sellers reached around her, plucked a navy blanket from the foot of the the bed, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Well, there are no signs of internal injury to your heart, organs or circulatory system, or subdermal tissue damage. Aside from the skin burns and those three broken fingers, you're okay. But I would like you to stay in the medbay until we dock at Quilla, please. Just to be safe."

Jeyda was semi catatonic. She stood with bare feet on the cold floor, simply staring into the middle distance in the direction of his desk. Michael grasped her elbow. Dark eyes finally focused on him.

She nodded weakly. "Okay. Fine."

The doctor stepped across to his desk, keying an authorisation code into the bottom drawer. It sprang open, and he bent down to retrieve the contents. He resurfaced with a bottle of Serrice Ice Brandy.

"I could go by the book and sedate you. But I'm willing to let the matron tell me if she would prefer a little liquor. Just don't shop me to Pressly. You could mistake him for a turian on a dark night, what with that stick up his behind."

Jeyda barely heard. She stalked over to a chair. Michael produced two tumblers, clinked ice into them, and topped off each glass with three fingers of brandy. She rested hers on her knees for several minutes before taking a sip. Michael sat with his eyes lowered. Allowed her to take her time.

She cocked her head back at the beds behind them. "They're all sedated, right?"

"All out for the count. Yes."

Jeyda's exhalation was long, anguished. Halfway to a sob. "Goddess_-fucking_-damn it. We lost two. _Two _coffins down in the cargo bay. Fucking travesty."

She mashed a fist into her temple.

Michael swirled his drink round his glass. "Marshall was an arrogant bastard with a hero complex. But he was a good man. Took three years, but he grew on me."

Jeyda looked up at him. "Think he would have said the same about you, Sellers."

Michael probed. Cautiously. "I'm told he died more or less instantly. That he couldn't have realised."

"He was the squad engineer. He had to be close to finish hacking the door. The electrical surge jumped to his omnitool when the door released. Cooked inside his damn armour." She gulped down a mouthful of brandy, spoke slowly. "I wouldn't say that would be entirely painless. Do you?"

He cleared his throat. "No. Probably not."

Jeyda regretted throwing his comforting words back at him. She turned away from him to look out of the viewport at the stars outside. They were changeless, impersonal. Wisps of violet tinted the view; the mass effect drive was maxed. Racing them back to Matano.

"Jeyda, I'm here if you want to talk. I'm here if you don't. Whatever you want."

Michael reached out, lay a warm hand over one of her cold ones. The sensation of difference made her shiver. He set about rummaging in another cupboard for sleepwear. She shrugged the blanket from her shoulders to pull her arms through the sleeves; Michael obediently averted his gaze.

"The boys were just - so - gung-ho, you know? And I could tell something was off. That fucking synthetic laid a trap, and I knew something was off. And we just kept on going." Her smile was bitter.

"It's easy to rationalise after the fact."

"Hindsight has nothing to do with it. I knew _at the time_." Jeyda put her head in her hands, fingers on her right hand bound and splinted. The guilt was a lead lining in her gut.

Michael looked over at his four sleeping patients.

"Well, some good came from it. You accomplished the mission. Kaidan tells me you saved his life."

The girl and the corporal lay in adjacent beds. Naya slept on her side, sucking a thumb. Her other fist, tiny, was nested inside Jack's, their wrists tied loosely with medical tape. She was small and perfect and unblemished. Jack herself could have been sleeping, aside from the unnatural pallor of her skin and the slackness of her jaw.

"Have you ever seen something like this before?" he asked.

"Never. Jack should be several hours' dead by now. But she's not. It's something about the meld they're in."

"Really?"

"Yes. They're locked in. Naya's acting like life support. I tried to dissolve it while we were down there. It's solid, like iron. I'm not sure what the consequences would be if I forced it. For either of them."

He met her eyes, gestured to the monitoring equipment next to them. Very carefully, Michael loosed the bond and eased them both apart. Alarms sounded almost immediately. Pulse, blood pressure, neural activity; all plummeted. Their life signs deteriorated in tandem.

Jeyda retrieved her glass as Michael replaced Naya's hand in Jack's. The alarms stopped as quickly as they had begun. "I read the Taylor biography, years ago. You know her bondmate used to be a paramilitary? I didn't realise it was her until we'd landed on the surface. Made me queasy."

Michael listened.

"She was Jack Harper's right hand until 2185. Cerberus. After I put two and two together I wasn't sure if I wanted any part of a mission she was a part of."

"Hmm. What made you change your mind?"

"Her bondmate clearly doesn't have Stockholm Syndrome. She atoned somehow. And you know, it's funny." Jeyda drained the rest of her glass."She was prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for this little asari kid."

Meanwhile, Kaidan lay peaceful on his back, deep in a dreamless sleep. Medigel formed a greasy layer over several areas of charred skin. It struck Jeyda that her comrade in arms was still only a boy.

Michael pulled her into a hug. "He'll need several grafts and weaves, but nothing too serious. You pulling him back made the difference, Jeyda. And we don't have forever, but we do have some time to work out a plan for Naya and Jack. That's better than nothing."

Jeyda nodded. "I suppose it is." She rubbed her eyes on his tunic. "It's just - hell. I actually liked them both. I didn't have much of a chance to get acquainted. I wish I had."


	15. Chapter 15

**_A/N: _**_With sincere thanks to everyone reading, reviewing and enjoying this story. I'm still totally blown over by all the positive reviews I've had so far. I would especially like to thank HugoCogs, Jay8008, bluemarlin and Liber-T.E.A for the fantastic encouragement they've given me over many chapters. As well as others who have chimed in once in a while! -Caracal_

* * *

**Chapter 15**

It was 2200 hours.

Bashir paced up and down a corridor flooded with sun. The glare scorched his eyes. Another cigarette dangled from his mouth, acrid smoke drifting into the air. He found an obliging sitter for Frankie at short notice, and had bedded her down in his mothers' quarters for the night before going on to the Institute. She was cranky; he was glad to escape her. But being back at his mother's place had unsettled him. He left her subdued. Miranda's absence had become very real.

This place had some weighty official name. Locals called it the penthouse suite. It was a part of the Institute set apart from prying eyes, sat atop the tall spire at the centre of the complex. Biomedical and clinical facilities sprawled below. Access was heavily restricted; discretion assured. Naturally, the galaxy's politicians, vid stars, and tycoons queued to book it for their cuts and tweaks, like they were checking into a hotel. Bashir didn't go in for that kind of bullshit. Vega strolled in like he knew the place. _Figures._

This was hallowed ground for him, Miranda's domain. Bashir never quite shook off his childish belief in its quasi-magical healing power. Sick people came in. Healthy people went out. Plain and simple. From here, he could see countless ships, little fish maneuvering around Quilla like a reef. A Normandy class frigate approached to dock at a private bay nested half-way up the spire. Bashir read the name, in bold black letters: _Malakoff. _

Black fear needled into his chest. Smoke plumed from his mouth and nose in one long sigh.

_If we get even one parent back from this, I'll quit._

Bashir didn't remember the first time he saw Jack and Miranda. But he remembered the second. The Milky Way Club was a grand name for a dirty warren of rooms built from salvaged cargo crates. It was hot, dark and musky. There were maybe fifteen girls; all ages, three species, and a bow-legged proprietor called Dev with a greasy black ponytail and a gun. Dev, mouthful of jagged teeth sagging open, promised Bashir a bed, food, in return for guarding his things. Bashir could do that, easy. The offer sounded like a ticket to paradise for his hungry five year old self. Dev paid asking price for him to his teenaged minders without haggling, and put Bashir to work.

He was an excellent guard dog. He became the girls' mascot. Two or three of them fawned over him. Like he was their baby. He had never been anybody's baby. All day and all night the crates thrummed with different sounds. Laughter. Fleshy, obscene noises. Creaking. Sometimes, a metallic tang filled the air, the smell of blood. Bashir scrubbed the scored metal floors, beat the old rugs laid out over them, changed sheets.

But his main job was using his biotics. Back then Bashir called it his blue. Dev demanded he practice. He perfected throwing it, knocking targets off their feet and into the air. He inflicted pain. Snapped bones. He was set on customers who caused trouble for the girls; others, drunk or drugged, Dev didn't want inside. Sometime Dev let others use his blue. Once or twice he crushed men's skulls against the walls. They split with a wet crack.

Bashir liked that.

Dev prized Bashir's skills highly. He laid off his bouncers. Word got around.

Then the women came.

They were strange. One had tattoos all over; the other had skin the colour of cream, silky brown hair and a scar raked across her face. Tattoo Lady and Scar Lady. Their clothes were clean. They looked expensive, like the businessmen who visited from downtown. People from around here didn't have clothes like that. They obviously weren't working girls. Bashir's curiosity smouldered in his chest as he watched them approach.

Dev barged downstairs, swearing, to get the door. Tattoo Lady saw Bashir squinting down at them, flashed a bright white grin before he could think to shrink away. That grin was infectious, and an answering smile spread across his face before he could stop it. He scrambled down the steps after Dev, excited, popping his knuckles and allowing his blue to snap and crackle between his fingertips. The fire began to prickle up his arms.

At twenty years' distance, Bashir couldn't remember what they said, only the amazement and exquisite thrill that electrified every nerve when Tatoo Lady and Scar Lady had ignited the way he did. His mouth fell open. They were _people like him._ The only ones he had ever seen.

Scar Lady cocooned them both in a bubble. _Wow._ He couldn't understand why, until Tatoo Lady fixed Dev with a death stare. Bashir shivered, though it was sticky-hot snatched his pistol from a shoulder holster. Too slow.

Tattoo Lady blew out the glass in every single window of the Milky Way Club. A deafening explosion crashed against his eardrums, dying away and leaving the sound of smashed glass tinkling on the ground. Dust rose from the track outside. Tattoo Lady and Scar Lady stood in the midst of it, unharmed. Bashir was dumbstruck.

He'd been told he wasn't very bright but he knew better than to go up against that.

Then Scar Lady flicked her wrist, almost lazily, and Dev slithered on the ground, clutching his fishbelly gut. It looked like an afterthought. Bashir was captivated. She stepped over Dev, over the threshold of the Club. Her boots crunched glass underfoot. She walked up to him. His teeth ached the closer she got. She held out her hand. He jolted with the shock as their two charges collided, but she was warm and soft and gentle.

And he knew: they had come for him.

Scar Lady gathered him up, set him on her hip. He dirtied her clothes. They left the Club all together. He didn't look back.

_Took 'em two weeks before Jack could give me a bath._

In the corridor, Bashir patted his breast pocket, frowned. He was out of cigarettes. Didn't matter.

Fast feet were now approaching, a group of people moving with urgent, rapid strides. He felt it before he saw them.

The airlock popped open and a gurney burst through, pushed by a medical technician in a red and white tunic. A human lay prone in the bed. Bashir ran on hollow legs. Forgot to breathe.

He gripped the gurney with shaking hands. His lungs were bellows and they wheezed a disbelieving, anguished moan as he saw her. The horror of what he saw cramped his gut.

She was pulverised. Swollen yellow-black flesh sealed one eye tight shut. A kaleidoscope of colours covered the rest. Angry purple stripes banded her neck. Bashir couldn't bear to look at the bruising, couldn't bear to look away. Just a nauseating lumpy patch remained where her nose had been.

A blanket covered her body, rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Her other eye drifted open. It was clouded, but rolled around, seeing little. Strobing the ceiling. Bashir bent at the waist, leaned over close to her face. His voice broke.

"Mum. Mum? It's me, Mum."

His eyes were hot. They betrayed him by burning.

Miranda's gaze finally focused. Her breath caught. Bashir saw love and relief, deepening as she recognised the smile that lit his face. The corner of her mouth flinched, but then her brow creased in pain. His voice sounded queerly high pitched.

"Don't move anything, Mum. It's okay."

Happiness broke over him like a tide. _Thank god thank god._

The gurney turned the corner into the facility, away from the blinding, endless sun and into the calm night of the ward. Bashir never took his eyes from his mother's face. Her shoulder tensed. She was trying to raise her hand. He clasped it, held it up to his cheek. He let her fingertips stroke gently into his beard.

"Frankie's fine. I'll bring her tomorrow. And -" he cranked his eyes up to look at the next gurney - "Mom's okay. Sleeping now. She's okay." He covered her hand with his own. It was soft and warm. Miranda sighed out.

He was incredibly, irrepressibly grateful. A fat wet tear fell from his face onto the bed. _Fuck. _

There was a tug at his elbow. He nearly lashed out, then remembered where he was. A hand was pulling him back. He tried to shrug it away. They wouldn't budge. The gurney kept moving. The chasm between them widened as the gurney moved on to Callix and Elba; a pair of sentinels guarding the door to the operating theatre.

Vega's voice was faraway, curiously gentle. "She's gotta go in now, Bashir. Not for long."

He forced himself to look away. Jack was being wheeled into a side room, body curled protectively around the asari child. Bashir stumbled after her. He crossed in front of the last gurney, the one Vega settled beside. Tali's shaky voice asked the question for which all instinctively knew the answer.

"Where's Grunt?"

He felt guilty, but right now Bashir didn't care.

* * *

Tali set aside the latest datapad to check the time_, _stretching her arms above her head. 0420. The late night dead zone. The ward was silent, save for the quiet chirruping and whirring of machines, mechanical birdsong trilling into the pre-dawn. All about her was dark, though she sat in small pool of mellow light. Tali unfolded her legs from where she had tucked them beneath her on the couch. She was surrounded on all sides by mounds of black tablets.

The Sinchi datapads were, yes, rewarding her. She was bone tired, but even at her age and station, the little voice commanding her to make herself useful could not be denied. Especially if data packets were involved. The most tantalising nugget of information so far was a solitary encryption key. It stuck out from the rest of the data like a sore tooth, one Tali couldn't keep from agitating. She continued to work through the pads_,_ patient, steady, hoping beyond hope that the lock the key fit would turn up.

Onto the next one. And the next one. Tried the encryption code. And the next. And then Tali heard a low note, starting quiet, from Miranda's bed. The door to her room was left open. Inside, Bashir's figure was darker than the rest, like a shadow. He was shaking.

He was crying.

Tali pushed the piles of datapads away left and right. She was stiff as she rose and padded across to him, bare feet clacking across the floor.

Her approach seemed to make him sob harder. The sound was full of angry despair. She realised he was trying to stop, but the trying was making it worse.

"Bashir?"

His tears were quicksand. He hid his face in the mattress, curly hair falling forward like a curtain. She heard a wet snort, then a great, unstoppable jag. No one else in hearing distance could be woken by the noise; Tali concluded it didn't matter, not really. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You've had a tough few days, Bashir."

His wide shoulders racked as he tried to control sounds he could not keep from making. Tali tried again, rubbed between his shoulderblades.

"Callix said it looked worse than it really was. She's going to be fine. Even look fine. No permanent damage done."

Bashir now looked to be totally beyond speech, gulping in sharp breaths between fits of tears.

_Did I say the wrong thing?_

She stroked her hand reassuringly down his arm, found his hand fisted close to his mouth. She closed her fingers around it, then fought back the instinct to snap back. Her fingers smeared into a congealing film of his saliva and mucus. It would be alive with bacteria, viruses and microbes. Tali nearly retched. The room swayed for a minute, righted itself; but she refused to let go of his hand. She told herself there was no longer any medical issue - especially not here, of all places. It didn't help much.

Bashir didn't want to follow, but allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He followed Tali back to the couches. The quarian sat neutrally; legs apart, feet set evenly on the floor, hands clasped in front. She rubbed the sterilisation gel she kept for such emergencies delicately into her fingers. She hoped she was discreet.

Tali waited for him to speak.

"S'not that. I fail at - _fucking _- everything." Bashir rubbed his eyes. "All I've been _... _to think is - I'm gonna lose … both and all I've _... _to them is a _fucking monumental_ disappointment."

Tali's translator stumbled over some of his words, clotted as they were in a thick layer of phlegm. He dissolved into hot, helpless sobs again, mashing his palms into his eye sockets.

She leaned forward, digging her knees into her elbows and steepling both hands together under her chin. She was going to have to touch him again; she just knew it. Well, she would just brace for it this time.

"I'm _certain_ that isn't true, Bashir."

He disagreed vehemently, hair whipping around his head like a mane. "Flunked school. Washed out of the Alliance. Got … from Chalkhos just when I thought I was onto … good. Is the Pope a Catholic?"

"What?" _Human in a white hat? _"Yes? I don't under-"

"Never mind." His hands fisted into his scalp_._ His grip looked tight enough to pull large, lank clumps right out.

"I'm older ... Mom was on _..._ ...lector mission. And all I have to show for … is my - fucking - _pissant _apartment," his voice rose and fell, "and the shitty job Mom … me in the first place."

Tali was soothing. "Bashir -"

"I'm a fucking let-down. I can't … bear it. I can't anymore." His head sunk down between his knees. He sucked in great gulps of air. Tali avoided his face and hands, tapped him lightly, insistently on one kneecap. He looked up as she settled back onto the couch.

"Growing up, my father was an Admiral in the Migrant Fleet, a disciplinarian,_" _Tali explained. _"_I suspect Miranda at least is similar. Until h_e _died, I ran in every direction attempting bigger feats to impress him. I needed, more than anything, to measure up to his expectations_, _even if s_o_me of the things I did were wrong. It took years for me to realise that all along _I _was the one doing the judging, not him."

Bashir snorted. "I don't have your high standards." He wiped his eyes and nose dry with his sleeve. The skin on the back of Tali's hands crawled.

"Have they ever asked you to be perfect?" she asked.

He hung his head.

"Well, have they, Bashir?"

A small voice, barely above a whisper. "No."

Tali stroked at the keratinous, lozenge shaped scales along the sides of her neck. They itched looking at him. He smelled of mingled sweat and tobacco, together with a sour smell like vomit. He needed to bathe.

"Jack was a psychopath and Miranda was a sociopath when I first met them. I used to think Miranda had no excuse. But at that time, her self-worth was built around one great big lie."

He bristled. "Being what?"

"Her own perfection. It was never her fault her father consigned her to the reject bin, but she carried that around like a huge dirty secret. Things got better when she accepted that. Oriana helped. So did Jack. So did you."

_And if you had told my twenty-five year old self I would grow old actually liking Miranda Lawson, I would have laughed you out of the room. _

_Oh, to hell with it. _She would decontaminate afterward.

She swapped couches, tugging Bashir into her with one arm. Gingerly. He was still crying but he was on the way to stopping. Tali's voice was wry.

"Look, Bashir. Yesterday you walked into a base crammed with soldiers. You unleashed one of the most powerful and precise biotic strikes I have _ever _seen. And _then _you read the riot act to the head of the Alliance military and the Quarian Councillor."

She looked at him sideways, nudged playfully. "Believe it or not, you are a - a - chip off the old block? Both of them. And I know they would be proud of you." Tali thought she saw a hint of a smile tug the corners of his mouth.

She retrieved a blanket and a pillow. Her tone broached no opposition; he attempted none, lying back and drawing the cover up to his chin.

"You're exhausted. The best thing for you to do right now is sleep. Everything will look brighter in the morning. Go on now."

Minutes later, he began to snore. She wanted to sleep, knew she wouldn't. Tali longed to jump into the decontamination shower right now. Clothes on or off. The urge thickened on her body like oil. She could go now but there were more important tasks at hand. She bent back over the datapads.

One of the screens was flashing orange. _Access granted. _Something dropped low in her belly.

Her sleep-addled brain could not immediately interpret what she saw. A wavering line, jumping up and down in a strong, regular beat. A number next to it, changing in real time every few seconds. A fraction. A percentage. _But of what? _A name.

Then: eureka. All exhaustion was shed in a heartbeat.

_They're life signs. _

Heart rate.

Beats per minute.

Blood pressure.

Blood eezo.

_Keelah_. _They belong to Liara. _


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Tali stared glassy-eyed into a terminal. The Institute's artificial day-night cycle was switching. The opacity of the windows was ebbing away. Soon shift changes would begin, bringing noise and motion. But for now, Bashir sprawled on the opposite couch, lying on his front. His breaths were soft and deep. She was content to let him stay there. Despite his size Tali saw the scared child in him.

Bashir was lucky. He had been handed a reprieve. It was long ago, but she felt the bitter pang of wishing the same for herself. She still wanted her father. Admonished herself for wanting it. Mostly, Tali prayed she could work fast enough to give Naya her mother back. She felt doubly fortunate; to be here, to have caught the break she had. It would be a matter of time before she could break the trace and pinpoint Liara's location. Whether Liara had that time was another question. Tali wrung her hands together, pinched the pressure points on her wrists. Bent back to her task.

The entrance to the wing slid open, pouring dazzling white light into the room. Tali's watery eyes burned. She whipped her cowl up from her shoulders and across her brow to shield herself from the glare. The figure was a black shadow; it was a human, a woman; her pace was brisk and the steps moved closer. She stopped before Tali and spoke. The voice was rich, throaty. She recognised it well before her eyes readjusted.

"Hey, Tali." A pause. "You look like crap. You okay?"

Tali pushed away from the terminal and rose to her feet, feeling the burn in her thighs. "I'm tired, but fine. Good to see you, Ashley."

They hugged warmly. Tali felt wrapped into the embrace; Ashley was taller and broader. As they stepped back, Tali gestured to a room behind her.

"Kaidan's in there. James had a cot set up."

Ashley rolled her eyes. "That I can hear." A loud snore reverberated behind the door. It crescendoed and died away into a low rumble. Repeated. As it had for hours. Tali tried to screen it out but listening to it now made her want to shriek.

"He always did snore like a damn buzzsaw." Ashley flicked an eyebrow, as though catching herself on the cusp of apologising for him. But she didn't continue.

"I couldn't sleep through that, even if I wanted to," Tali said. "But I didn't have the heart to wake him."

Ashley put a hand on her hip, peering down at her. "Thought you liked noise, Tali. Didn't quarians raised in space rub shoulders all day long? That just a story?"

Tali crossed her arms. Another crashing snore wheezed from Kaidan's room. It was impossible to concentrate. She sighed. "The survival of the Migrant Fleet also owed much to the existence of the in-helmet mute button."

Ashley smiled.

"Bet you'd give anything to have your helmet back now, right?"

The noise drilled into her skull. Tali nodded. She spoke between clenched teeth. "You go on in. I'll let you know when I have something to tell."

Ashley palmed the door controls. It opened onto a raised hospital bed, holding Kaidan, and a low cot sagging under Vega's dead weight. A rasping moan burst from the room.

In response, Ashley crouched at Vega's shoulder. "Babe, onto your side," she whispered.

From the depths of sleep, Tali saw him obey. He lurched over. Ashley's face took on a peculiar expression before the door pressed shut.

The silence that followed was exquisite.

* * *

_Jack?_

Naya's voice was quiet. Weaker.

_Yes?_

_I'm tired, Jack._

They spoke less. Jack spent more time watching the colours swirl and blend at the far edge of their bond. What was vivid had grown dull.

_Me too, Naya. _

Her strength could not be shored up much longer.

Jack tried not to feel afraid. She did not want Naya to be afraid.

But she knew their time together was close to an end. Jack enveloped the child again.

_Let me tell you another story._

* * *

Vega woke to crisp morning sunlight, streaming through floor to ceiling windows lining one side of the room. It burned his dreams away; feverish and disquieting sequences in which he was forever pursued or trapped or alone. Dreams of Ash evaporated like mist. But the residue of one stuck to the back of his eyelids; Naya and Jack, imprisoned together and afraid and beyond hope. His fault. His responsibility. It echoed with him, barely remembered, back into the day.

Kaidan's room was fitted with an en-suite and Vega used it to freshen up, standing under a hard hot shower until his skin was sore. Shaving was a painful pleasure. Tali perched on the edge of an armchair when he came out, one towel around his waist and another around his neck. Water droplets glistened on his chest. She flushed, crossed her legs shyly. He found himself flattered by Tali's unintentional response. Even slightly piqued.

"Oh! Sorry, but I thought you sh-should know Ashley is waiting for you in the courtyard. And I brought you a change of clothes. And - some more medigel for your face." She stuttered the words out, pointed to a neat pile at the foot of the cot. She got up to go.

He bent to pick them up, hiding a small smile. "Appreciate it, Tali. Was Ash in here last night?"

"She arrived about three hours ago. She sat with Kaidan for a while."

_Somehow I knew that_."How's your work going?"

"Not as fast as I'd like. I've put a team and extra processing power on it. The location signal is well and truly scrambled. One minute we think it's Tuchanka, then Ilium, then Kharshan. I'll let you know as soon as we get a fix."

She fled through the door before he could say thanks. Vega pulled a tight jersey over his torso and dragged on a pair of boxers and Alliance blue cargo pants, pleased to be able to buckle the belt so tight. Eighteen months had passed since he last saw Ash. Back then his gut would have spilled over trousers several inches bigger at the waist.

Getting to the convalescent garden was a matter of passing Bashir on the communal couches and passing down a featureless corridor, deeper into the medical suite. He felt no resentment toward him. The gnawing in his belly built as he stepped into the private atrium, open to the stars above. It was several degrees warmer here. Moisture began to condense on his upper lip.

Dappled morning light played on the leaves of dozens of trees and plants. All imported from Earth. Flat paths, wide enough for wheelchairs, wove between flowerbeds bursting with reds and yellows and pinks. Birds trilled from twisting branches. The air was scented with honeysuckle and lime.

Vega spotted Ash sitting on the far side, maybe fifty feet away. This morning, her dark hair was twisted into a neat chignon. A few errant strands escaped on either side of her face. She was fresh-faced and pale. Typically, she was wearing no makeup.

She had the same effect on him as always. Vega's stomach flipped.

He hastily laced his hands behind his back, slid his wedding band off, pocketed it. She didn't wear hers and he sure as hell didn't want her to know he still wore his. As he approached, her eyes narrowed on his bruised jaw.

"Nice shiner you got there. Sparring partner put the moves on you?"

"Nah. Bashir Lawson. He got a little wound up. Took some of his frustration out on me."

Ash peered at him. "No kidding. Saw him earlier. He's a big guy. As big as Kaidan. I can remember when he was just a clumsy runt."

Vega recalled the time she meant. Ash resisted alterations of most kinds. It was equal parts religious conviction and deep-seated mistrust of Miranda. That was until she'd got seriously hurt and needed them. A cold, uneasy truce existed between the two, but Miranda was a woman Ash could never quite bring herself not to despise. Despite - or now, perhaps because of - her augmentations.

She sucked air through her teeth, tutted. "That had to hurt."

"Yeah." He pulled his chair closer to the table, facing her.

"I'm not one to take sides with a Lawson. But if I'd have been there, I would have held you down and let him take his best shot."

"Then I'm glad you were held up." He scratched through his thatch of silver-black hair, injected false jollity into his tone. "Knew I could count on your support like always, _cariña_."

Their eyes locked, flicked away. That was rough and he knew it. It had been years since he called her that.

She changed the subject. Tried to start over. "You've trimmed down. You look better, James."

His heart performed a little fillip in his chest.

"I quit the _cerveza_. Trained hard. Easier to make the time now."

_Especially since_ g_oing back to an empty condo doesn't appeal. _

"I ordered your usual. There's time to change it if you want."

"That's good. Thanks." He noticed a bottle of hot sauce had been brought to the table, the kind he liked. "And thanks for the condiment." Ashley rolled her eyes just a little at the pun, but her face stayed stony.

"Anyway. Speak for yourself, Ash. You look good."

"We can't all sit on our asses all day in desk jobs. I'm still on active duty. Keeps me in shape." _Touche_. "What happened?"

_I fucked up again, Ash. _"The _Malakoff _was dispatched to investigate the distress call I told you about. It collected Grunt, Miranda and Jack on the way. Kaidan was selected for beta squad."

"You mean _you _selected him."

Vega cleared his throat.

"What the fuck were you thinking, James?" The words were quiet, dangerous.

"He was the best marine for the mission, on the closest ship I had available. I can't shield him from active duty. You know that."

She reared back. Her eyes lit with fury. "Sure you can. Not that he or I would want you to. That's not the issue here. And quit bullshitting me."

Her bloodless fingertips gripped the table. She called him out.

"You picked him because you wanted it to be _you _out on that rock."

"No, ma'am." He shook his head, but it was useless arguing. Mostly because at some level it was true. They both knew it. He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably.

"You can't make me feel worse than I do already, Ash. I'm aware it's Kaidan lying in that bed." That was also the truth.

"I should rip your balls off right now, James." She inhaled deeply through her nose, massaged her temples. "Tell me what happened."

He gratefully entered explaining mode. It meant avoiding justifying his actions to Ash. "Alpha squad got locked into a part of the Sinchi complex. The surviving medic's report said the place they found Naya was a living space. Beta squad hacked the entrance. They got hit by some kind of energy pulse as the door released. Could have been a malfunction. Or maybe a booby trap."

"How badly was he hit?"

"Not as bad as his CO. Or Grunt. They were both killed."

Ash's voice shook with disbelief. "Grunt's _dead_?"

"Yeah. Whatever that pulse was, it was a _coup de grace_. He looked -" Vega couldn't finish. When he'd viewed the body he'd had to fight from heaving up the contents of his stomach. He was sure he was turning green remembering it. Ash avoided his eyes, looked across the garden.

The food came; _huervos rancheros_ for him, syrupy pancakes for her. He didn't need to taste them to know they were perfect. Vega couldn't bring himself to start.

"That's a loss. Poor bastard. I thought he was damn near indestructible." Ash speared half a pancake into her mouth.

"Just not near enough."

Vega gulped down a mouthful of searing hot coffee. Premium quality. It tasted like soil. In a way, he wished it was. Taking coffee on a sun-drenched terrace while Grunt rotted in a cargo bay was a travesty.

"Kaidan's going to be totally fine. Miranda will be, eventually. She's currently under sedation. We should be able to bring her round in a few more hours. We still need to know what happened in that room. And what's happening to Jack and Naya."

Ash crinkled her nose in distaste. He didn't warm to the woman but Ash's needless animosity toward Miranda needled him. He knew it was pointless to challenge it. He pushed a mouthful of eggs into his mouth to stop himself from talking, chewed mechanically.

"And Tali's onto something?"

He put his hand across his mouth before answering. "Yeah. Blue wasn't on Sinchi. She's been taken. Tali thinks she has evidence she's still alive. The life signs look legit but her location's being blocked."

He rubbed the back of his neck, anxious. Rested both palms on the table.

"Kaidan apart, that's why I asked you to come. Just in case. Can you accept a new Spectre commission from Tali?"

"Of course. Liara's one of us. Glad you've finally seen sense, _machote._" A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. For the first time, it was reflected in her eyes. "Just leave it to the professionals now, okay?"

She noticed the band across his index finger at the same time he did. A stripe of pale skin stood out against his coffee-coloured tan. Vega quickly hid his left hand in his right. He was nauseated by embarrassment. When he looked back up at her, neither spoke for a long time. Her eyes were dark and stormy. Neither looked away.

And Vega knew, without doubt, Ash had missed him too. He drew new strength from that. Reassured himself.

_This is gonna be okay.  
_

* * *

**A/N:** _The narrative swings back to Miranda and Jack from the next chapter onwards. It's their story, after all. But since Jay8008 wanted a little Ash and Vega, I thought I would give them a go. Like most in this particular version of the ME universe, they have a chequered history together. But I hope you enjoyed that peek into their relationship. -Caracal._


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

_It's late. Miranda sits secure behind her desk. For months now she has sequestered herself behind high walls. The executive suite she cowers within is beautiful, imposing; a fortress. More home now than home._

_Jack bonds with their young son fast. Miranda wants to but her feelings are stillborn. Bashir is difficult to love: feral, abused, violent. She goes through the motions but the reality of adopting a child like him is more than she can take. She is sterile. She is losing Jack._

_A chasm yawns open between them but she and Jack carry on as though there's no problem. Bashir is a consuming black hole. Jack pours all her love into him. She's found a calling in being the parent she never had. Miranda just looks at Bashir and sees child-Jack. The old Pragia guilt resurfaces. It leaves her jealous and confused, and Jack withdraws further, to the boy._

_She is being watched from the dark edge of the room. Jack's finally come to her. Her steps are decisive. Boots echo in the silence. She plants both hands angrily on Miranda's desk. She's too ashamed to look at her. She cradles her head in her hands._

_She's been grieving for some time, she realises. Jack's chosen the boy over her. This is it. Its the end of her world. A low moan escapes her throat. An animal sound._

_Then Jack's at her side. Joints crack as she crouches. She strokes one hand across Miranda's lap. Fingertips pull soft under her chin. Jack tilts her face upward. Her almond eyes are warm, dark pools; they brim with concern. Miranda doesn't deserve that. She stands, quick; Jack rises to match._

_Hands rise to cup her face. Jack murmurs her name. She bites back a sob. She's pathetic. Jack's thumbs stroke across her cheeks, her mouth; tender. Her breath falters but she shakes them away, eyes on the floor. Jack steps into her. The tops of her thighs nudge the edge of her desk._

_Hesitation clouds Jack's face but not for long; soft lips feather across hers. Jack's kiss is steady. She closes her eyes and Jack's mouth touches her eyelids. Hope flickers. Miranda's hands settle on Jack's hips. She breathes Jack's vanilla scent back into her lungs, like mountain air. Jack kisses her as though she might break; and Miranda's barricades crumble._

_She buries a tear-streaked face into Jack's shoulder. Jack's arms wind around her. The kiss she presses into Miranda's hair is fierce. Miranda cannot cope, cannot admit it. But Jack knows. She believed herself capable of change. Stupid. Her eyes squeeze shut._

_Her lips rest against Jack's neck. She notches small, tight kisses onto the side of her throat - one, two, three, four. They ask permission. Jack caresses the small of her back. She grazes her teeth along Jack's jaw, the way she likes. Jack's breath shivers down her own neck. She stiffens and Miranda's knees go weak. She cannot remember the last time they were together._

_Miranda is overcome by her physical necessity for Jack; alive, on her, inside her. Jack is her centre of gravity. No one else can fill this void within her; no one ever has. She trembles with the force of her need. Jack's unsure. She doesn't want to take advantage. Miranda straightens; her eyes meet Jack's, pleading._

_Jack's voice is husky with want. Come home, Miri. Don't give up._

_Miranda's answering kiss is deep, urgent. Jack clears the space behind them with a biotic sweep of her hand. Clutter clatters to the floor and Jack presses Miranda hard back onto the desk; she grips Jack's hips between her knees. Jack possesses her. Replenishes her. She's still hers._

_Next morning, they go home._

* * *

It was light. Miranda sensed it behind closed eyelids. Next, she knew she was awake. Whether five seconds or five hours elapsed between her two deductions was impossible to say. She didn't want to open her eyes.

But then someone squeezed her hand. Someone with big, warm palms. Miranda knew who that was. She pushed her eyes open and immediately regretted it. Lancing pain arced from her jaw back into her skull and pooled at the back of her head. She winced, pulled her eyes tight shut. The light levels in the room dropped. A bass voice echoed oddly loud in the space.

"Mum? It's me. I've turned up the window tint. That better?"

Miranda prized her eyes open again, kept them open through sheer force of will. She forced herself to stare toward the sound. Bash was peering back at her; her Bash, wild-haired and determined. He was smiling though his eyes were red-rimmed. She couldn't say anything just yet, didn't try. But she tried to squeeze back.

_I'm dead. Or home._

Either way, the relief must have shown on her face because he crushed her hand in his. It hurt, distantly, as though happening to someone else. She pursed her lips together and pushed her tongue to the roof of her mouth, tried to form a syllable. All that rasped out was empty air.

"Does it hurt?" His mouth was a thin line.

_I thought it would hurt more._ But all she managed was a strange, guttural grunt. Bash hadn't taken his eyes off her, but now he retrieved a container from the floor between his feet. He popped it open and scooped out a small handful of ice. He held them up and let the chips melt into her sore mouth. It was precious little moisture, but she swallowed and the fire in her throat dimmed for a moment.

She tried again and managed a croaking sound. It was almost the no she had intended.

"They've given you _all _the good shit," he explained. "There's enough painkiller in you to drop an elcor. They agreed to give you a couple of minutes to come round before Vega comes in. You scared the fuck out of me, Mum."

Miranda tugged at his hand with her fingertips. _I'm sorry._

Bash swept his hair back off his forehead with the back of his forearm. His shirtsleeves were rolled back, exposing vivid tattoos up to where his wrist met his hand. He scowled at her, but his eyes were soft. He was too worried to be angry now.

"You're a total asshole. We'll talk about that later. You bloody fool."

She summoned every iota of strength to smile at him. He let her reach out to muss his hair. He hadn't liked it since his childhood waves tightened into his adult, corkscrew curls; but he tolerated it now. She rested her palm on the back of his neck.

_Love you Bash. _It was honest. She mouthed the words; he mouthed them back before replacing her hand by her side.

Miranda's head was clearing now, the dark, sludgy fog seeping away. The fluttering pulse and artificial focus she knew was Vennex made her lightheaded as the sedative wore off, even as the analgesic poured slow lead into her limbs. She was sinking and rising at the same time; bile flooded her mouth.

More and new messages were being processed by her brain as she came around, through the pain was deadened. Her left hand was immobilised, numb. So was her right knee. Her cheek and chest felt different; like the replacement bone weaves she'd been fitted with on a few previous occasions. There was a raw, pulsing burn close to the base of her spine.

_Third time's the charm. _Her throat was full of broken glass as she swallowed. But this time, she spoke in a hoarse whisper.

"How long have I been out?"

Bashir's voice was quiet. "You came into the Institute around twelve hours ago. You were KO'ed for another sixteen before that. So maybe thirty in all."

Sluggishly, her mind shifted. Now her body was sending and receiving signals on most levels, her hindbrain set to reassembling the shards of memory shattered by what came before.

Recall stabbed through her like a hot knife. She bridled with panic, tried to jackknife out of the bed. Bash's palm blazed blue. He placed his hand on her side to calm her, while his head cocked behind.

"Mum - Mum, it's okay. It's okay. See? There's Mom. There she is."

The flash of blue from Bash's biotics left a ghostly impression on her eyelids. She blinked it away furiously. She looked over to the next bed. Her heart unclenched.

Jack lay motionless, silver hair unwashed and flat to her scalp. Temporary sutures held a wound together on her temple. She breathed softly through her open mouth. Peaceful. Miranda could see a small asari hand resting on her collarbone, but she couldn't see the girl.

A gruff voice."We wouldn't have put her anywhere else, Lawson. We knew you'd just spill your guts open finding her." Vega approached her bed, solemn. He was trailed by the indigo asari from beta squad. _Jeyda_. "How you feeling?"

"Probably as good as I look right now." Her voice cracked. "Itchy."

"That's the pain relief," Jeyda offered. As soon as she said it Miranda realised she already knew. That particular knowledge was a part of her mental map, navigated on instinct many times.

_My faculties are returning. Good._

Bash set the ice container on the bed by her hand. She reached for another piece. Her co-ordination was off. She succeeded only in running the ice up the side of her cheek, where it burned cold. Miranda started to prickle with embarrassment, until Bash took her hand and guided the chip toward her mouth. The ice that trickled into her throat was a blessed relief.

"The turian, Doctor Callix, is coming. He can fill you in on your injuries and treatments. Jack's, too. I do know your recovery time is good. You should be on crutches in another week. But you got a pasting, _zorra_."

Jeyda wrung her hands in front of her. She was throwing her shoulders back, ramrod straight. She was ill at ease. She and the Admiral had clearly just met. "Beta squad triggered an explosion when we got to you. But it doesn't explain your injuries, Miranda. Can you remember what happened?"

She could; it came back to her in flashes of vision and bursts of pain and a smell like burning oil, coating her nose and throat.

Miranda forced the words out between creaking breaths. "You reached us in - the nick of time, Lieutenant. Thank you. We were attacked - by the AI. Jack was convulsing. I was" - her throat throbbed with remembered pain - "strangled, thrown across the room. Grunt was close to - finishing him off. That's the last - I can remember."

Jeyda released a pent-up breath. "We did recover a synthetic body. No head. We thought it was an advanced mech."

Miranda managed a minute shake of her head, realising her neck was held in a restraint. "No. We discovered Liara upgraded her -" she swerved clumsily around the words _Shadow Broker_ -"VI assistant years ago."

"Glyph?" Vega asked. His eyes were dark.

"Yes. The thing had gone - bloody insane."

Vega paused before turning his eyes back to her. "Was he responsible for what happened to Liara?"

Miranda swallowed another piece of ice as she weighed up her response.

"It's certainly possible. He was very - attached to Naya, didn't want - her to leave. If Liara suggested it, or threatened it, he may have - plotted to dispose of her."

Vega's features lightened. This explanation was neat, simple. Convenient. Miranda almost pitied him as she continued.

"But he flat out - denied it when I - challenged him. I think he was - telling the truth."

Vega took a seat next to Bash, folded his arms across his chest.

"And you have another theory."

"No. But when we - arrived, Glyph believed the - intruders said something - before his systems went offline." She cleared her throat. "Could be a false lead, but it made no sense to me."

Vega leaned forward, hands resting on the tops of his thighs. "Suspense is killing me, _zorra. _Spill it."

"Does the phrase - _the darkness must not be breached_ - mean anything to you?"

Jeyda's expression stayed the same. Vega turned grey. The burly man shuddered from his spine up to his shoulders. He looked like someone had walked over his grave.

"Yes, ma'am. Say no more."

Vega's muscles twitched with the repressed urge to start issuing orders. His face glazed over; he was already plotting. But now Miranda had unburdened herself, a quiet stillness fell over her; she felt no more than an idle curiosity about what Vega wanted to do next. It was beyond her present capacity to care. She turned her face to Jack, still sleeping soundly. She sighed, content.

Bash rose to his feet, settled again into a chair on the other side of the bed with his back to the window. His eyes drifted occasionally over to Jack. He had shifted position to better watch over them both. His eyes glittered in the shade of the room.

"Can anyone tell us what's up with Mom and the kid?" he asked.

Jeyda moved closer to him, dropped into a chair. Her long legs gangled in front of her. "I'm no expert, but I can try. Physically, they're fine right now. They're locked together in a shared meld. I tried to separate them aboard the _Malakoff_."

"And you couldn't?"

"No." She spread her hands wide, apologetic.

Bash rubbed the hair on the backs of his arms. He stared over at Jack. "Do you think it's a compassion meld?"

Jeyda drew back. Miranda observed her fight and fail to curb her sarcasm. "You've been boning up on your Matriarchs. Ain't you just a touch out of your depth, child?"

Bash just moved his weight forward on his seat. Jeyda shrank slightly under his glare. Miranda narrowed her eyes, proud.

The asari scoffed. "I'm sorry to break it to you, but compassion melds are fairy tales."

Vega cut in, voice sour. "Anyone mind telling me what the hell either of you are talking about now?"

Bashir replied before Jeyda could speak. "Several ancient asari texts talk about compassion melds. They can comfort the dying. They can forestall death by binding the two nervous systems together, pooling life energy. The strong supports the weak."

"They're mystical rubbish," Jeyda snapped. "Not real. And even supposing they were, a twenty year old child certainly couldn't enter one. Years of practice and meditation would be necessary to even attempt one, let alone sustain it. Something so strong would kill Naya."

Bashir mused under his breath. "Maybe it did."

Miranda decided Bash didn't make sense. Her gaze returned to Jack. He was groping for a spiritual explanation to make sense of what was happening to her. Understandable, but she held little truck with it. Nevertheless, she felt a persistent tug at the corner of her mind.

"Jack had a seizure - before the explosion. Naya went to her."

Bash rounded on Jeyda, but she held firm. "We already know they're in a meld of some kind, Bashir. Just not a compassion meld."

"What's the difference?" Vega asked.

Jeyda swallowed. "Assuming they can be seperated, dissolving the meld will be lethal for one of them."

Her expression was wretched as she met Miranda's eyes. "I'm sorry, Miranda, but that's probably Jack."

Miranda's mouth was dry as torchwood. Cold stones settled in her chest. After the relief of seeing Jack, physically intact, sleeping, the truth was impossible to process. She was numb.

"And if it's a compassion meld, it won't." Bash spoke simply.

Vega's voice was slow, deductive. He meshed his fingers in his lap, eased forward. "But that's moot right now. No one here can dissolve the meld. Lieutenant Gregor can't. I can only see Liara fitting the bill. Or maybe someone like a Justicar."

Miranda thought of Samara. She had helped Bashir, once. But they had fallen out of contact. Her heart rose. Perhaps she could be located.

Jeyda shook her head. "They don't have weeks or months to wait, sir. Eventually their higher cognitive functions will cease. Brain death will occur. They'll both die if action isn't taken soon." She squeezed the tips of her head crests together until they were pinched violet.

A strange smile unfurled across Bash's face. He sat with his eyes half closed, deep in thought.

"Maybe there's another way."

Three pairs of eyes fell on him.

"I studied on Chalkhos until recently. Seven years," he explained, when Jeyda's brow quirked upwards.

"Didn't think the nunneries admitted other species. Especially not young males."

Miranda caught a shadow crossing his face. _That bitch Irem._

"I started with advanced biotics training. Advanced for humans, anyway. After a couple of years, I got involved with meditation, spiritual practice. Humans know fuck all about biotics. It's all about the show. I've seen how that ends." He nodded towards Jack.

"I'm sorry, Bashir, but I'm not getting your point."

He blushed. Miranda was puzzled. "I found something out. Accidentally. I experimented with melds. Sometimes with two asari at the same time. Sometimes more."

Miranda's mind churned. _Well, that explains Irem. And why they won't have you back. You foolish boy._

Vega and Jeyda both looked away, self-conscious. Bash scratched the back of his neck until it glowed a furious red.

"Anyway. I didn't grow any badass melding abilities of my own. Nothing like that. But I learned to use an asari's ability like it was my own. Direct it how I want it. Like the meld is a carrier signal, and I'm the message. Does that make any sense?"

Vega's brow furrowed, lost. Bash stood, paced in front of the window. It was filled with a million stars.

"I have an empathic link to her. _I_ can try to dissolve the meld, using the Lieutenant like a-" he cast about for another word, "a radio transmitter. If she'd allow it."

Jeyda was scandalised. "Is this some kind of joke? That's Goddess-damned ridiculous. Hocus pocus. You're delusional."

Miranda opened her mouth. Jeyda's voice softened.

"I know Jack's your parent. But what you're talking about is pure moonshine. You can't seriously believe yourself." She rapped her fingers along her knee. "I'm sorry, child. The situation's fucked up."

But Bash's fingers darted out. He brushed the skin at Jeyda's elbow.

Jeyda's eyes snapped black for a moment. Then she recoiled, as though bitten by a venomous snake. Her lips peeled back to show her teeth.

Something had passed between them, something that rattled her. Miranda was curious. Jeyda jerked out of her seat.

"Whatever the hell that was - don't you _ever _do that to me again without permission."

Bash chuckled. In that moment, he looked just like Jack. Daredevil and reckless. Miranda felt a surge of affection for him. And then - a stab of fear.

"But will you try?"

Jeyda looked mutinous. She nodded.

* * *

Bashir stood barefoot. Calm. He wore a pair of loose white pants and a black shirt. Jeyda was similarly dressed. He would have preferred his mother to be elsewhere for this but she point-blank refused to be moved. Miranda's obstinacy was legend; he knew better than to fight it. She was propped up, skin a grotesque bouquet of purple and green and yellow, keeping vigil from the adjacent bed. Tali'Zorah set next to her. The quarian was rubbing her good arm ineffectually.

Another, larger gurney had been wheeled next to Jack and Naya. He climbed up next to Jeyda. They lay down side by side, carefully avoiding skin to skin contact. For now. Electrodes and wires covered each of them from head to toe. Leads stretched away from their heads, chests, groins and feet toward monitoring equipment at the back of the room. A cheerful chorus of beeps, whirs and pips punctuated the air.

He raised himself on one elbow, sketched a salute across to his mother. Smiled. She didn't return it. She was pale underneath her bruises. She mouthed _I love you _again. He smiled it back.

Jeyda signalled; ready. She lay flat and closed her eyes. He did the same, settling between Jeyda and Jack. He reached for Jack first, clasping her hand in his. It was cool, clammy.

He breathed in, out, in again. Steadied himself. Then took Jeyda's hand.

Bashir was pulled backward violently. The meld swallowed them whole.

_God, I've missed this. _Bashir felt reborn. They stood together in absolute dark. Total silence. He could see only the blacks of her eyes, glinting like coals, radiating their own inner light. Slowly, like a sunrise, more of her came into view. She looked taller than she really was. Her features seemed carved in marble.

_You didn't tell your mother how dangerous this was._

Jeyda's voice was all around, thrumming inside him.

_No need to worry her._

_You're brave, child._

_If I'm right, bravery has nothing to do with it._

_Then I hope I'm wrong._

Jeyda was now lit, dazzlingly, from below. An immense blue star, hot and turbulent, roiled beneath them, filling his vision. Bashir knew instinctively - or maybe Jeyda did - that this was the surface of Jack and Naya's conjoined minds. It was mesmerising, dangerous.

_I can't come with you._

_Will it hurt?_

_Yes._

Her voice was resolute. _They will resist you, hide from you. Keep moving._

He stared down between his feet. In the physical world the star would have been millions of miles distant. Here, he could see patterns burst and meander on the sun's surface. Heat seared into the soles of his feet. The heat deafened all his senses. He would melt. He was terrified. Jeyda sent a pulse of reassurance across their meld.

_The danger isn't physical, child._

_Thank you. For this. For taking a chance._

Jeyda dismissed him. It was eroded and careworn, but Bashir felt the basic kindness in her.

He tried to quash an impulse to hold onto her, couldn't. She was amused.

_Time to go, Bashir._

_How?_

_Just - jump._

And Bashir leaped out, arms thrown wide, onto the surface of the star.

* * *

**A/N: **_Sorry for the delay in updating; I hope you like the chapter. Many thanks go to HugoCogs for reassuring me the latter part was good, and publishable. As always, any concrit or comments greatly appreciated. Hope you're still enjoying the story. -Caracal_


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N: **__Nothing particularly graphic here (certainly if you have read previous chapters) but please be advised there's allusion to violence and non-con sex in this chapter. Please don't read on if you don't like that sort of thing. Thanks, as ever, for reading and reviewing - really do appreciate it._

* * *

**Chapter 18**

"Everything looks fine." Tali sat beside Miranda's bed, flicking between medical datafeeds with the rapid eyes of one trained to detect anomalies and outliers. The window tint was still maxed, and bright lights from the feeds lit Tali's grey face in staccato flashes of white and blue. "Nothing to worry about."

At the other end of the room, the three adults and a child lying in a row were motionless, like waxworks. Only Bash moved at all; his breaths swung from calm to ragged in seconds. Eyes rolled wildly beneath their lids. To Miranda, he seemed to be dreaming. That assumption would be wrong.

"You'll forgive me if the comatose quartet over there don't exactly fill me with _joie de vivre._"

Tali tutted. "You were nicer sedated. Believe it or not, I'm not here for your sparkling conversation. Another time, perhaps." Tali propped her head on one elbow, hand cupped under her chin.

"That's right. You're waiting on a location fix."

The quarian was stung. She pulled her cowl back over her head."I can wait elsewhere." Miranda heard her mutter 'boshtet', but she didn't gather herself off the chair. Suddenly, she couldn't bear the thought of Tali leaving, of being alone. It resonated in her voice.

"No. Please don't go. I didn't mean to offend."

She crossed her legs and returned to her feeds. Kind-hearted Tali was here for the duration. Miranda had rarely been as glad of anything in her life. For a time they sat in silence, listening to the percussion of the machines.

Tali looked over. "Well. This is one for the medical journals."

"I don't intend to alert them. I would appreciate it if you didn't, either."

Miranda tried to flex her hips backward into the bed, aggravating a bolt of pain through her spine. She grimaced. Work was out of the question for a multitude of reasons but she would have paid a prince's ransom for some distraction. Miranda resigned herself to its inherent impossibility.

"Even if this is a breakthrough? If it saves lives?"

"Bash has a gift, one he's cultivated. But he's been called a freak all his life. His life won't be his own if he becomes someone's tool. Jack and I are a case in point. I won't have that for him."

"What about Vega?"

"Vega will conscript him over my dead body. He wants to re-enlist? Fine. He's an adult. Its his choice." She brushed strands of errant hair from her forehead, stroking carefully over dressings. "If the Alliance wants more men like him, they'll have to extend their own programmes."

Tali looked toward the sealed door. Vega was entertaining Frankie, with varying degrees of success, on the other side. Only part of his presence was about her and Kaidan, Miranda knew. Vega wanted Bash.

The quarian returned to worrying the medical readings on her omni, relaxed into the back of the chair. Miranda watched her brooding**.**

"Did you know about this ability?" she asked.

Miranda shook her head. "His biotics surpassed Jack's peak ampage by fourteen. But not this, no. We knew he was doing more than just Grissom work on Chalkhos. We only found out afterwards how deeply involved he had become involved with the religious aspects."

"You don't approve?"

"I thought it was a crutch - a very exotic, alluring one." Her thick eyebrows creased. "Seems I was wrong again."

"I've never heard of anything like this in other species. Most of the reports I've heard of are urban myths. Very popular on Omega."

Miranda turned to look at Bash. He exhaled a quiet yelp of pain. Her maternal instinct to remove him from the source of that pain kicked into high gear. She clenched her good fist until her nails dug into the pads of her hands.

"Frankly, I don't think he really understands what he's doing. That's what concerns me."

Jeyda's reluctance to take part had not gone unnoticed. The asari was by turns cagey and dismissive. Miranda surmised a link with her own safety.

_She's in uncharted waters. Bash is no more than a facetious upstart to her. I can empathise._

Tali sucked in a deep breath, raised her luminous eyes to Miranda's.

"Jack will be fine."

Miranda nodded. She couldn't bear to say**, **or think, anything else. _Not now. _Tali rested her hand on the bed, close to hers.

"Bashir wouldn't leave your side last night, you know. I was awake, reviewing data packets. We talked."

Miranda swallowed. Tali was cordial as ever; she detected an undertone.

"He's convinced he's failed you, Miranda. He was distraught. He says he's let you down. That he can never live up to your standards."

"What? He could never disappoint me."

Miranda's conscience twinged. She felt a pang of recognition. _Have I become my father?_

Tali was subdued. "Do you ever tell him?"

"I -" her voice trailed away.

_I was angry when he was expelled. I said he was a flake. I never told him._

A pall of bitter remorse settled over her.

_He's doing this to prove something. Oh, God. What have I done?_

_Boy, if you come out of this, I'll tell you every day._

Miranda dissembled**.** "Your bedside manner is flawless, Tali." She turned away, impassive. "I'm better when the patients don't speak."

Tali recognised the brush-off. "It comes with the territory. Councillors spend most of the time listening to crazy people. Not that you're crazy. I mean -" her omni bleeped - "_keelah _-"

Miranda smiled. "No worries."

- no, I mean," Tali bounced upright from her chair, "yes. We have a lock. We've found Liara."

* * *

As he plummeted toward the blue-white plasma, spreadeagled like a skydiver, Bashir heard himself screaming. It filled his ears so loud he thought his throat would rip itself apart. He thought he could smell own skin burning, knew his mind was playing tricks; he was being burned alive. The instinct to jerk away from the heat flooded every impulse; but there was nowhere to retreat to. Gravity wrenched him down. His scream faded into nothing against the roar and the heat.

The star-ocean surged up to greet him.

Bashir understood the meaning of absolute pain. He _was _the pain; nothing else existed. He focused on Jack. He froze in a current of pure agony. It cascaded over him like the crush of a waterfall. He was certain, in this moment, that he would die.

And then it was gone.

He opened his eyes.

_It's raining indoors. A darkened hallway flashes blood-red every few seconds. An alarm klaxons into his skull. Bashir smashes his hands into his ears. Black spatter clings to the wall to his left. It's graffitied over a large yellow and black logo. It's gore. _

_Find her._

_Bashir jogs towards the open space in front, hand trailing along a cracked two-way mirror. Cool, congealed bloods seeps between his toes. His stomach turns -_

_- Movement. He bursts into a sprint. The jagged steel gangway cuts his feet as they pound the floor. He takes the stairs in three leaps, swings through an open door into a wall of tropical heat. Warm water soaks him to the skin. Spears of undergrowth quiver to his left. He scythes through vegetation in a frenzy, sticks and leaves whipping into his eyes. He can barely see. _

_A scream splits the night. _

_Bashir skids, changes direction. His chest heaves. Wet earth gives way to hard concrete underfoot. A shuttle sits at the centre of a landing pad. A long-haired girl, no older than thirteen, is pinned to the ground by a grown man. He grabs the painful nubs of her breasts, barely-there, and she howls in shock and pain. She's beautiful. She's so much like Frankie that Bashir double takes. Then white-hot rage engulfs him. He roars, and the girl rolls her head towards him and flashes a macabre grin. Her eyes are hard; dead. _

_Bashir realises: that killing look is for him. He wrenches his gaze away with difficulty. Wind sways and creaks in the black canopy overhead. _

_A blur streaks at the edge of his vision. He snaps his head right. _

_The scene tilts, and his head spins -_

_- Into rapturous applause. It ripples on and on. Miranda exudes glamour, waiting in shadow. She's vid-star beautiful. Jack's drinking her in. Thick hair falls loose across her back; she wears a plump burgundy pout. Underneath the cosmetics all colour drains from her face. Lines are recited until her mouth falls into a desperate, pinched frown. She's up next. Her teeth grind._

_Bashir cringes in sympathy; Miranda's introverted. She struggles with people, crowds._

_Should be you going on, she says. You're the one with charisma. _

_Jack smirks. Shut the fuck up, woman. _

_Miranda's eyes glitter._

_I'm a criminal. With a suspended sentence. What the hell am I doing here? _

_But Jack's arm coils around her waist. She murmurs low, intimate; lips stroke against Miranda's ear._

_Hey. Dumb fucks out there don't know shit. Only one person in this place has any right to hate you. And that's me. _

_Jack kisses her. Adjusts the neckline of Miranda's gown._

_Besides, my felonies could beat the crap out of your felonies any day._

_Miranda's mouth tugs upward. She takes a deep breath, and -_

_- stale ammonia hits the back of Bashir's throat. The reek of piss almost makes him gag. His eyes take a long time to adjust to the murk._

_Three men hold Jack face down over a bathroom counter, crusted with scum and dirt. She bellows like an animal, twists relentlessly in an effort to break free. The men wear sick, anticipatory grins. _

_Without her amp, it's hopeless. The men know it. She knows it too but that doesn't mean she'll make it easy. _

_The first to close in has his balls crushed. He smacks the bridge of Jack's nose against the sink. It bursts with blood. Her shouts stop. Another kicks her feet apart, forces himself between them, pants open. He spits into his palm. _

_Jack chokes. She can't stop angry tears rolling down her cheeks. _

_A knot of impotent rage tightens in Bashir's gut. A viola sings in his ears. He runs, guilty and relieved -_

_- into his parents' room. He forces himself to calm. Jack has her back to him, framed in silhouette. She's naked, save for a sheet wrapped hastily around her. Her breasts are full. _

_She's mostly asleep, but she cocks her head. Bashir hears the strains of Neilsen's Fifth playing, quiet. He knows them by heart. Jack pads out of the room, movements laboured, leaning on her cane._

_Miranda's dozing lightly in an armchair, reading lamp angled away. Her chin lolls forward. She clasps a newborn to her chest; her two palms, one above the other, are enough to cover the baby's entire body. The music plays on._

_Jack, hair peppered with silver, breathes deeply; holds still._

_Bashir wishes he could do the same. But a pair of eyes bore into the back of his neck. Watching him. He wheels; adrenaline spikes in his blood. They've disappeared._

_He gives chase, dashing out of the house -_

_- into a pearlescent dome of blue light. Bashir's in a gaping chasm, the belly of the whale. The roar of a million beating wings crashes against his eardrums. _

_A hive. _

_His heart drums so hard it could split open his chest. His parents never talk about this place but he's wondered about it. His blood runs cold. He fights the urge to flee._

_Jack squats behind a gleaming quartz pillar. It's snapped as if broken between giant fingers. She snarls at the Commander to move out. _

_Shepard springs out of cover next to him. Bashir yells with shock, jumps out of her way. She streaks forward, terrible, sights trained downhill. A krogan bounds past, shotgun cocked. _

_Jack's pinned; her distance from the squad widens. But Miranda looks back, hair plastered to her cheeks with sweat. She races to Jack, measured and calculated, opening a space wide enough for her to recover. She lays a hand on Jack's arm. _

_Jack's face snaps up. She's dubious, even hostile. Bashir watches the decision crystallise on her face. She'll trust her. Not kill her. He scrambles after them both as they push for the door at the foot of the slope. Jack nods, once, to Miranda as they catch their breath. _

_Dead ahead, another Jack's eyes shine out of the darkness. Lupine. _

_Bashir's lungs burn but he pumps his limbs, commits all. She escapes him. The aroma of fresh coffee fills his nostrils as he runs into the pitch black, into -_

_- his bedroom. Bashir pulls up hard, panting._

_His child-self squirms in Miranda's lap, gap toothed and short fused, wrestling with reading. _

_The letters are just whorls and jumbled sticks on the pad. He tries to wriggle away but Miranda clamps both hands to his stomach. That's a kicking kay, she says, maddening. What's that letter? You know that one. Lets work it out together._

_Jack sets morning coffee down for her on his bedside table. Her jaw twitches. She hovers, arms crossed, flicking her omnitool. He never guessed just how much Jack used to rely on it. Embarrassment burns on her cheeks. _

_Miranda doesn't even look up, just reaches out and clasps Jack's wrist. She pulls Jack down next to her. Something unspoken passes between them. Jack's eyes follow the letters, silent. _

_Bashir hears heavy steps clatter down the stairs, bolts from the room - _

_- and vaults over the mezzanine, landing in the kitchen below. Jack evades him again. Fuck. He knows its not real but his ankles crunch. Vomit hits the roof of his mouth. _

_It's night; windows shuttered against the Chascan twilight. A bottle of wine and two empty glasses sit drained on the side. Miranda and Jack sit on opposite sides of a smaller table than they have now. Tipsy. _

_Jack shoves a forkful of food into her mouth; then her lips curl. _

_Gotta say. This tastes fucking awful. Sorry._

_Miranda chews, nods slowly. Agrees. Jack grins. She kicks Miranda under the table, playful. _

_Finally, we find one thing you can't do. Call fucking Westerlund. _

_She belly laughs; it's infectious. Soon both of them are helpless. _

_Underneath the hysterical laughter: something else. Weeping? He paces around the kitchen. He can't find the source of the sound, can't follow the trail. Somehow, it exists on some deeper plane. Lower. _

_Bashir rushes towards the storm shelter, stomach in mouth; throws the door open. Definitely crying. Louder. He scurries down - _

_- into black. He's blind, standing in the dark, just a nightlight spilling weak into the room. Something prevents Bashir stepping forward. _

_He looks down, glimpses the tips of tiny headcrests peeking around a doorframe in front. _

_Elation booms in his chest. This is Naya's memory. _

_He steps around the girl, into the room. Her mother sags into the couch. She sobs with the weight of the universe on her shoulders. Her shoulders shake. She's alone. _

_Naya's lost. She has no idea what to do or how to help. It must be her fault, somehow. She can't fix it. Tears run down Naya's face, but she stays hidden._

_Jack's voice, shouting; as if from a far shore:_

_Bashir? Is that you? _

_Desperation flares in her tone. _

_His eyes lock on her. The scene evaporates, condenses - _

_- he drops onto a staircase, falls. Everything shakes and bucks violently, bathed in blood red light and pools of shadow. He tastes copper in his mouth._

_Either this is an earthquake, or a ship being torn apart._

_He sprawls across a landing, hairpins back on himself. He almost rolls into the floor at the foot of the steps. It judders underfoot. The scream of shearing metal fills his ears._

_The sub-deck is hot, cramped, squalid. There's a mingled scent of machinery and sweat. Its a dead end. Jack stands, wild eyed, at the far wall. Defiant and strong. Naya is wrapped protectively in her arms._

_He steps towards her. Mom, it's me._

_She grins. My boy._

_Where are we?_

_My hidey hole._

_The entire ship moans and shrieks. The meld - the ship - is breaking apart. _

_For the first time, Bashir fears for his life._

_Boots clang on the metal of the stairs above. An unearthly voice calls to Jack, rich and deep. _

_Jack? Jack, my old friend. I've missed you._

_Jack goes rigid with fear._

_It's Shepard. You have to go._

_Why?_

_Shepard's long dead. _

_Jack says this as though it explains everything._

_This isn't a memory?_

_No. _

_Another step rings out on the stair; the lights flicker, fail. Bashir is mute with terror. He feels the child being pushed into his arms. Shepard's halfway down the stairs. _

_To come face to face with Shepard, in this place, is death._

_Jack screams to him over the booms and throes of the dying ship, shoving him towards another set of stairs. A choice. _

_He grabs her hand tight, won't let go._

_He starts up, pulling Jack behind him. She slips free. _

_He reaches back. Can't find her. _

_The fabric of the ship screeches. Shepard's eyes lacerate his back. _

_The drive core overloads. A thundering roar rumbles overhead. The escape is blocked. His mind's eye sees the fireball. It will be on him in a microsecond -_

_- Everything melts into blue-white._


	19. Chapter 19

_**A/N:** Hello, all. Sorry for the delay between chapters: RL got in the way somewhat. Thank you to everyone continuing to read and review. Please be aware that this chapter references sexual situations (though I would be surprised if you got past Chapter 13 if that was a problem). I must extend a special thanks here to HugoCogs, who basically read through most of this and said 'don't be a wuss, you need to publish it'. He is incredibly prolific - and essential reading for Liaramancers, Samaramancers (?) and Traynormancers. Thank you, good sir. And hope you all enjoy the story. _

* * *

**Chapter 19**

Vega loathed himself for what he was about to do. It didn't slow his brisk pace away from the cab and down into the bowels of the station. He was weary to the bone; sick of himself. He had to forget even if just for a while.

The club was dim. As he'd hoped, the volume was so loud his mind juddered into silence. He shouldered through the throng at the bar, made toward a darkened booth out of sight of the entrance, and sagged down into it.

Four dancers were winding around their own poles, mounted on a high platform at the centre of the room. He stared, transfixed. Then he snapped his gaze away to order from a lithe asari waitress.

_Look, don't touch._

When she returned, she bent at the waist to set his glass down, giving him a clear view down her top. Her smile was suggestive. She stroked his wrist in thanks when he tipped her. Vega had thought he wanted her to touch him; but his mind regurgitated scenes of Bashir's earlier meld_._ He flinched away_, _any sexual embers put out instantly.

Two measures of scotch waited for him over ice. Part of him resisted. It was not a strong or a loud part, not anymore. His tongue sang with his first sip. He tasted relief_, _and it was bitter.

_I fucked it up. Grunt. Jack. Kaidan. Bashir. Them, and how many others over the years? Can't anyone see I'm useless at this armchair general bullshit?_

Vega watched a quarian dancer writhing around the pole. They were not the exotic novelty they once were but this woman was beautiful_;_ her movements were elegant, fluid. Vega was mesmerized. Until his thirst whispered and he needed another scotch.

_You know, I destroyed Lawson's family. Wouldn't be surprised if she put out a hit._

Names swirled over and over in his head until he eventually surrendered_. _He let the music wash over and through him. The heavy, bass-thick beat and the scotch and the sinuous figures on the catwalk lulled his mind into warm nothing.

Vega switched back to counting time by his drinks, when he needed another. Three double scotches burned into his belly. It was around time for number four. He slumped over his glass but his eyes ranged up; the mouth of the booth was blocked.

"Hola, big man."

"Hey." _Leave me the hell alone._ A cold burn of resentment licked through him, died as quickly as it began.

"Best tits, ass and tequila on the station, guaranteed. You weren't hard to find." He read Ash's lips.

Without asking, she slid into the booth next to him.

"Squad took me out for a couple," she barked over the din. "Nice place. Smart."

Ash looked good but wasn't dressed to impress. He'd bought her the collarless shirt she was wearing years ago. She waved the waitress over, ordered herself a drink. It was difficult to inject sarcasm into a shout, but it rang clear to him.

"I knew you'd find a dark hole to curl into. To nurse that tortured, guilty soul of yours. And here you are."

"If you came here to ride my ass, go to hell, Ash."

He glared at her, turned away. But she leaned to speak into his ear, and her voice was like smoke. "Actually, I didn't. Wanted to tell you my prep's almost done. I'm shipping out at 0630 tomorrow."

_Bullshit. Pinging my omnitool would have been a five minute job._

Curiosity and a queer sort of nervousness caught fire in his chest. He extinguished it with another mouthful of scotch.

"So what's your plan?"

"First -" she was back to shouting over the music - "pay Aria T'Loak a visit. Then we bust Liara out, one way or another."

"We found some good shit on T'Loak's smuggling network. Get Tali to copy you on it. Could give you some leverage."

She snorted, flicked her curtain of dark hair back across her shoulders. Ash exaggerated the movements of her lips to be more easily understood, pursing and flicking her tongue to the front of her mouth; the effect unsettled him.

"Like Aria would care. She knows the Alliance can't sink credits into a petty war with Omega."

_Same old, same old. Spectre knows best._

"Take it anyway," he growled. "As insurance."

Ash hesitated, decided to humour him. Her face lit amber for a moment as she tapped out the message.

They sat together for a while, adrift in the music that throbbed through his thighs and jaw. Vega hated the way his body began to respond to her scent, the current that began to hum through his muscles. He groped for more words to cover the chinks opening in his armour.

"There's an Alliance research corvette, the _Turing_, swinging by tomorrow morning to get Tali," he called out. "She's salvaging what they can from Glyph's mainframe. We need to know what Liara had on Leviathan."

Ash swirled her scotch around her glass, tipped it to her lips.

"Whatever it was, seems enough for those bastard cuttlefish to bump her off."

"My guess is she must have collected enough evidence to take to the Council." Vega shaped each sound carefully.

"How long before Tali is called back? Can she recuse herself?"

Vega set his tumbler back on the table, caught the asari's eye. She returned with two fresh jiggers over ice.

"Eitan will stand in for her for a while. Least until we begin making some headway. Tali and Traynor are the only AI specialists we can put into the field right now."

Ash looked right at him. For the first time in many years, Vega felt himself flush. His heart quickened in time with the beat.

"You sticking around?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Heading out to the relay tomorrow afternoon. Someone's gotta repatriate Grunt."

Her eyes gleamed. Vega slipped in closer to catch her words. "Wrex will appreciate that. You taking him home."

_I got him killed. Has to be me. _Vega rubbed his hands over his jaw and the angry shaving rash under his chin.

"_Dios, _Ash. Wrex's face when I told him. He would have killed me with his bare hands if he could."

She pouted sympathetically. _"_That talk never gets easier, babe. Wrex will be okay. In time." Ash's leg buffed against his. "That spark off this whisky session, huh?"

"More the final straw. You got something to say about it?"

"No. I'm not your keeper anymore. Just - you're looking good. Promise me this won't get to be a habit again. Okay?"

His mind blanked but Vega's mouth went dry. He blurted out the familiar old lie.

"No chance of that."

_This is my fault. Can't she see I just need to be numb for a while?_

Vega settled into his original position, hands cradling his tumbler, eyes on the table. She was silent while he drained his latest glass_. _Something in Ash snapped.

"Goddamnit, James. When are you gonna take your head out of your own damn ass?"

He was surprised when she jabbed his chest; his bulk rolled backward. Ash was compact but forceful. Recrimination and something else was simmering in her eyes, something Vega was afraid to name.

"This isn't all about you_," _she shouted over the beat. "Not even close. Grunt and Jack and Miranda never took orders from you. Neither have I."

_Don't I know it. _He waved her away. "Skip the tough-love Williams pep talk, Ash."

"No. You listen. This is about Liara. And the kid. And-" she knocked back the dregs in her glass, wincing as the scotch burned down her throat - "Shepard."

Ash wouldn't let this go. So he humoured her.

"Yeah."

She leered in self-righteous triumph, teetering on the knife edge between tipsy and drunk. His face stayed disbelieving, resigned. Her grin slipped.

"Look." Ash spoke slow. She tried to sound caring. "All I mean is - you don't own this guilt, babe. You carry too much. Don't carry this."

Vega felt unsteady. She smelled good. He leaned in close.

_Look, don't touch. Shit._

"Why'd you really come down here?"

She raked her hands through her hair, awkward; took a deep breath."I couldn't leave without. You know_-_"

Ash placed her hand over his. Her index finger grazed over Vega's wedding band.

They looked everywhere but each other until there was nowhere else to look. Then she held him in her warm, brown eyes.

That's when Vega's night went sideways.

* * *

No one could tell her whether it would be minutes or hours - only that the uncertainty would be over by dawn. There was primal, almost predestined sense in this. Jack had been opened up and worked on so many times through the years Miranda knew perfectly well what her wishes would be.

At midnight, Jack's life support was switched off.

Jack would stay, or go, on her own terms.

Miranda bit down on an irrational urge to laugh. _No change there. Capricious son of a bitch._

For the first time in an eternity, the mechanical litany surrounding them fell silent. The room was peaceful, calm. Miranda ignored all offers of company and flicked the door access from green to red.

She had long ago lost count of the times she had kept vigil over Jack. This was different.

_You've relied on doctors so long. You've always hated that. But we're beyond mere medicine now. I won't let that be how you go out._

Miranda hauled herself into a chair set at Jack's head. Arrows of white hot agony drove through her leg and pelvis. She forced herself out of bed anyway.

_I'm here, darling. Just you and me now._

The first minutes were torture; endless seconds Miranda endured in voiceless dread, convinced that this was it. Her eyes were glued to Jack; the shallow, broken movements of Jack's chest; her chapped, bee-stung lips; her silvered widow's peak.

Miranda begged silently and without words.

The silence was like sand. It flowed and set heavy around them both as Jack's breaths found a different rhythm. They slowed, deepened. Eventually they settled, rattling through parted lips.

Miranda summoned the courage to touch her, afraid she would break. She rubbed her thumb across Jack's knuckles gently, pressed her fingers into her curled fist. Her skin was cool. Tears sprang to Miranda's eyes.

_It's been amusing but you can quit the bloody act now, Jack. Come on._

Jack's breaths began to skip and stop. Miranda knew the pauses could only be seconds long but they stretched forever. Each time, black fear gripped her throat and stopped her heart. And then Jack's chest would heave and she would suck in another lungful of air and relief washed over Miranda like sunlight.

_Jack, please don't go. Wake up. We're not done yet -_

Miranda repeated her catechism with manic intensity, over and over, endlessly, as if repeating it to the universe would bring her back. She wanted to believe it could. She stroked Jack's fingers, the liver spots on her hands, her arm. Jack dreamed deeply, outside time.

_Please, Jack, please. Open your eyes._

Gradually - she had no clue how long it took - she found herself attuned to more than Jack's body, but the ebb and flow of her presence in the room. Miranda had previously dismissed this as the wishful thinking of the bereaved. If she was wrong, she was glad; Jack was here and she could be here with Jack. Right now, that was all that mattered.

For the first time, Miranda dared to hope. It was accompanied by guilt. She was crushed between the two like an ear of grain husked on the millstone.

_I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I'll earn your forgiveness. I'll do anything. Only you have to come back. Please._

The silence filled the room to the very top; it started to suffocate her. Jack was quiet and Miranda was alone, ranting to herself in her head. She suddenly felt ridiculous, weak. An urge to shriek, to shake Jack awake seized her vehemently. But then another stray thought welled into her mind.

_If Jack's here, maybe she can hear._

Miranda woke a datapad and started to read. Newsfeeds; passages from her favourite novels and Jack's favourite books; poetry; philosophy; the book they had to read to Frankie as a baby, fifteen times a day. Anything to keep going, to maintain the connection. Her voice gusted life back into the room, blew the oppressive stillness away. And as the night wore on, Miranda found herself reading less and talking more.

Talking to Jack lightened her heart, just as Jack always had.

Eventually, at 0400, the datapad dropped between her feet. Something was about to happen. She pulled herself as close as possible to Jack, stretched her good arm out, and stroked her hand steadily through Jack's cropped hair. A stream of words, meaning everything and nothing, poured from her mouth.

"- you said you wanted to get laid, Jack. Come on. I'm still game." _Stroke. _"We'll find somewhere simple and go. Whatever you want. As long as it isn't Omega." _Stroke. _"Even better idea. We'll go to Elysium. Frankie will love that. And we can steal some time for ourselves." _Stroke. _"Do you remember the time we visited, when you were pregnant? You must. I do." _Stroke. _"Or we could buy a ship and just - disappear. Would you like that? You and me and Frankie." _Stroke. _"And Naya. Don't think you can escape so lightly. We have another mouth to feed now." _Stroke. _"Please, darling. Please. Come on, you bastard woman. We're not done. We can't be."

Jack's breath caught for the longest time yet - and settled. But this time, her breathing returned light and shallow and fast. Miranda's heart twisted; she was mortally afraid. Scalding tears spilled down her cheeks. Her voice cracked.

"Damnit, Jack. Please don't leave me - I just can't." _Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. _"I love you. There aren't words to tell you how much." _Stroke. Stroke. Stroke._ "But if this is it, I need to say. I have been so bloody lucky to have you." _Stroke_. "I'm sorry for failing you. I'm sorry I lied to you." _Stroke_. "These years we've been together. You've given me peace I had no right to expect. And love I never dared believe I would ever find."

But Miranda could no longer hear Jack breathing.

She couldn't make a sound, couldn't look down. Miranda's mind flat rejected what was happening. She froze, unseeing, beyond pain or panic.

Jack twitched. She stirred.

Miranda wrenched herself out of the awkward embrace she had held Jack in, looked down.

Her eyes opened.

Jack blinked, slowly. Miranda had never seen anything more beautiful or miraculous. She half laughed, half sobbed, disbelieving.

Jack tipped her head up slightly to the source of the noise. Their eyes met. For all her imperfections, all her failings, all Miranda saw in Jack's gaze was trust. She brought her hand down, rested it over Jack's heart. Pressed her lips to Jack's forehead, then gently to her mouth. With a gargantuan show of effort, Jack nested her hand into hers.

And Miranda wept.

* * *

Vega's head spun. He was sick and dizzy, as though seeing the world through eyes that did not precisely belong to him. Pain thrummed behind his eyeballs; the window tint was bleeding out, gradually replaced by piercing white light.

_Not quite hit the hangover, but I've had worse._

He stretched and on reflex reached out to the other side of the bed.

It was empty.

Last night exploded back into his mind like a wreck. His gut lurched violently, and for a moment, Vega forgot to breathe.

_Oh, shit. Oh, holy fuck._

He whipped the sheets off his body. The bed he lay on was vast, the furnishings expensive and understated. The entire right wall was a window opening out onto the stars. This hotel room was plush, but it was not his.

They had been all over one another as they hailed a cab outside the club. He had pawed at her like a brute and she had darted her tongue into his mouth and put his hand on her breast, moaned when he had squeezed gently.

_This is Ash's suite._

Then she had pulled him through the door with both fists balled into his jersey, and he had driven her up against the wall breathlessly, semi stirring against his cargo pants and pressing into her thigh. Ash had smiled her coquettish, cock-teasing smile of hers and pushed him back onto a couch, kneeling between his legs. She had stroked her fingertips across the fork of his pants and deftly popped the top button of his fly before some scrap of sanity had resurfaced.

Vega had closed both hands around her smaller ones and slurred that they needed to stop.

He was rewarded with a hissed 'fuck you' before Ash staggered into her bedroom, palming the door control shut. Vega shugged his boots and pants away and curled up on the couch to sleep it off.

His eyes had snapped open around 0400, the way they always did when he had a skinful. He was still drunk but on the cusp of sobering up. He found himself creeping into her dark room, spellbound.

_Why the hell did I do that?_

Ash hadn't fully woken, just pulled him down onto the bed and allowed him to curl around her back, hand stretched over her flat belly. They both lapsed back into a place between sleeping and waking, air around them electric. Before long Ash began to work her haunches, grinding back into him and making soft mewls of pleading and want. Then she had reached behind her and pulled his boxers down over his hips.

And he had surrendered. He had pressed her flat to the bed and she took him deep -

_Please don't let this be real -_

- and her eyes, frantic and full, told him she didn't expect to leave Omega.

Vega's hands groped, found the boxers still between the sheets, and pulled them on as he swung his legs onto the floor. The room lurched and swam back into focus.

_Fooling around with the ex-wife would be bad. But that wasn't fooling around. That had been -_

_Shit shit shit._

She had left without waking him.

He stumbled back into the entertaining area, stooping to pluck the rest of his clothes from the floor. As he was stuffing his foot back into an awkward boot, Vega realised it was too light to be early morning.

_Fuck_.

Jabbing his omni awake, he saw with cold horror that he had five messages. And only twenty minutes before the _Turing _cast off.

_Ash bailed on me but I'm damn well not going to bail on Tali._

There was no time to clean up; Vega streaked out of the suite and out of the hotel, feet pounding the opulent marble floor of the lobby. He hurled himself into the nearest cab, wheezed out his destination, and pinged his Alliance override codes to the vehicle's systems. The timid volus driver kicked the cab into full gear, gibbering with terror and excitement. Even with the inertial dampeners, the blurred view from the cab's windows was nauseating. Vega held down the contents of his stomach by a thread of iron will.

_Least it stops me dwelling on this clusterfuck I'm in._

The cab shot out of the narrow access it had sped down and into spaceport airspace; an immense_,_ gaping crevasse in the side of Quilla station. There was nothing ahead but the surface of Chasca, glowing blue white like the surface of a star. They suddenly hung a klick above the ground and Vega's gut flipped, as though the cab had just flown over the hump of a bridge. The cab dropped like a stone toward the floor, spitting Vega out direct onto the _Turing's _concourse_._ The last passenger - petite and cowled - was preparing to embark.

"Tali!" he shouted.

She turned around, and the smile that lit her face was as beautiful as it was brief. She swayed toward him.

"Good to see you. I thought I would miss you."

"Rough night."

"I can tell." Her nostrils flared. "I can smell you from here."

"Wanted to see you off even if I do smell like a varren pit, _chispa_."

"I appreciate the thought," she replied, wry. "Traynor waited but she's already gone back aboard."

He nodded. "Give her my best. If there's anything I can do to help you both, let me know."

She folded her arms. Vega thought she looked self-conscious.

"Since you were out of commission last night," and the narrowing of her eyes told Vega she suspected more than she let on, "I don't suppose you know. Jack's awake."

The news broke against him like a gunshot. Vega choked; for a moment he thought he would fall. He squeezed his eyes shut.

They shot open when he felt slender arms slip around his waist. He couldn't speak, just looked down into Tali's face, dazed. Her expression was thoughtful.

Then Tali rose on tiptoe, cradled the side of his cheek with her fingers, and kissed him.

Vega was struck dumb. He clearly missed some cue because she withdrew quickly. He was confused. Her voice was warm and resolute.

"You are a good man, James."

She turned and walked onto the _Turing,_ leaving Vega standing alone on the strip. He was bewildered; but beneath that, he felt lighter. The scales of his guilt had begun to peel away.

And he thought: _Those were the words I'd been waiting for Ash to say._


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N: **__Any concrit or suggestions, as ever, always welcome, and as always, thanks for reading and reviewing!_

_**2nd A/N:** I'm not sure if making slight edits to chapters triggers off FF alerts but if that's the case, apologies. The very kind and eagle-eyed JadeDragonMTR spotted some repeated words and errors in some chapters, which are being corrected. I'm grateful to Jade for the pointers. _

* * *

**Chapter 20**

_TEN DAYS LATER_

Miranda had often come to the Institute's private atrium but always as a clinician, never as a patient. She had no patience for convalescence and, besides the most obvious concessions to disabilities of various kinds, little appreciation of what patients might want. Jack certainly did - had to. Really, it had been Jack's idea in the first place. Although she had to push past the initial wisecracks about strippers and alcohol, Miranda had convinced her to lay the garden out. That was ten years ago. Bashir had been a teenager and Frankie was not yet born.

She closed her eyes. She could hear birds trilling to one another and feel morning sunlight spill onto her face. There was so much bright, deep green. Miranda felt cleansed. The space soothed and refreshed her on a visceral level. It was as though her slate had been wiped clean.

Miranda heard small steps approaching, patted her lap. Frankie climbed into it gingerly, taking care not to put pressure on her bad knee. Miranda wrapped her arms around her and breathed the girl's hair.

"Hey, brainiac." She kissed the tip of Frankie's nose.

Frankie was reaching the age at which children become allergic to parental shows of affection; though she clearly didn't like it, she didn't squirm. She was always carrying something about - pens, toys, old datapads. As she grew older it was increasingly likely to be pliers or a soldering iron. Or that ratty old toolbelt Jack had unfathomably brought her from the Academy, blackened with grease and which Miranda had repeatedly tried to mislay. But today Frankie had brought one of her prize possessions. A real paper book - her favourite as a baby. She set it on the table in front of them. Something plucked at Miranda's heart as she realised how hard Frankie was trying.

"Are you going to read that with Naya?"

Frankie nodded enthusiastically, with her head and half her body bobbing up and down.

"That's very thoughtful. I'm impressed."

Frankie smiled widely, basking in the compliment. "I thought she might be too old for that so I've got some others loaded on my omnitool too." She woke it up and waved her arm through the air.

They had vetoed Frankie's requests, threats and tantrums for her own omnitool. She would only download games which would rot her brain. Not to mention the threat of a hack. But last year, in an astonishing fit of pique and stubbornness, she had made a simple one herself by studying extranet materials. They had been prepared for disappointment; another display of sulking and acting out. But she had persevered and prevailed. And something had clicked into place; Frankie had finally found something she excelled at and which set her apart in a family of biotics.

"Wow. That's great." Miranda's eyes narrowed. She reached out and stopped Frankie's arm in midair. "Frankie, have you been working on your omnitool?"

"No. Tali'Zorah gave me some _really _amazing upgrades for it though. She's so cool. She said I can come see her working on the -" to her credit, Frankie realised how insensitive this might sound but it was too late for her to change tack - "stuff she brings back. You know, from where you and Mom went."

_Not happening. _Miranda rubbed her back and smiled at her. "Will you show me?"

"Well, most of them just made it run better. But the neatest thing was a download from her own omni."

She keyed in a combination, pointed her arm; and a small globe of creamy-coloured light, no bigger than a balled fist, floated lazily into the air around twenty feet from them. It hung there for several seconds, inert.

Miranda looked back at Frankie, flicked an eyebrow. She had pressed her hand across her forehead.

"What does that -"

A white hot flash of light seared into her skull. The garden hushed. Miranda blinked repeatedly to clear the glare from her eyes.

Frankie grinned mischievously. "Flashbang drone."

She hated playing the disciplinarian but she could predict Jack's reaction. Miranda would be continually blinded around the apartment unless she put her foot down. Miranda's schooled her mouth into a thin line. She fixed her daughter with a stern look.

"That is _never _to be used indoors, Francesca. Or close to people. You could blind them."

Frankie looked defiant but her blue-gray eyes were hurt. She slid out of Miranda's lap.

"I'm not stupid, Mum." Frankie pronounced it 'mam', which was the way Miranda would have pronounced it if she'd had a mother. She softened.

"I know. Tali must have known how grown up you are to trust you with it." _Or she was caught up in playing the fun aunt. Stupid damn quarian. _"Come back."

Miranda stroked Frankie's hair, dark and thick and falling to her shoulderblades. She could swear the chorus of birdsong which started back up was indignant.

"Naya's coming soon. But before she gets here I wanted to ask you something."

Frankie looked at her expectantly.

"You know Naya's just a little girl, and she'll stay a little girl -"

"- like Peter Pan -" Frankie interjected.

"Yes, I suppose - for a very long time. Until you're as old as Bash."

Frankie clearly had trouble imagining ever being that old.

"She doesn't have anyone to take care of her. And she's not like other children. She's never been out in the sun before. She's scared of new people."

Frankie nodded.

"So Mom and I both wanted to ask you - would you help us to take care of her? She'll need a tough big sister. Someone like you."

Frankie looked at her scabby knees. She could see the question churning around her child's mind, and the internal turmoil it caused. Frankie was naturally kind but she was also deeply jealous. And Miranda knew what she would ask.

"Naya's biotic, isn't she?"

"Just a bit right now. She will be when she gets older - about the time you go to college. But to all intents and purposes, she's not really."

Frankie brightened. "Oh." She chewed a nail. Another bad habit acquired from Jack.

"Will it be forever?" she asked.

"I can't answer that, because I don't know, Fran," Miranda replied. "Her mother might come back and she might not. She might not be able to look after her. Or she might. So it may be Naya stays for only a little while. But - maybe it's better to think of it another way. Bashir hasn't lived with us since you were a baby -"

"Because he's a grown up."

"Exactly. But in your heart, he's always been your brother, hasn't he?"

Frankie nodded again.

"If Naya becomes your sister, then she always will be. No matter where she lives or who with. But that's your choice."

The girl was silent for several moments. Then she looked up into Miranda's eyes and it was like staring back into her own.

"I'll help look after her. But the other stuff. I have to think about that."

_Bullseye. _

"Very wise." She kissed Frankie's forehead. "And you know that you'll always be my best girl, don't you?"

Frankie made a retching noise. "Bloody hell, Mum."

"Language, Frankie." But Miranda's scolding was half-hearted; her words had the intended effect. Frankie all but leaped out of Miranda's lap as a grav chair appeared in the entrance to the garden. Jack was steering with her free hand; her other, and most of her torso, was hidden beneath the tiny child clinging to her for dear life, face buried in her neck.

In that crystal-clear moment, Miranda was perfectly happy. She beamed at Jack.

Frankie's face reddened. She looked apoplectic. Miranda took her hand, squeezed it.

"Think how scary this all is for her, Fran."

As they drew closer, they could see Naya was shaking like a leaf. Frankie relaxed.

"Hey, gorgeous," Jack said, reaching for Frankie's other hand. The girl grinned. "And you." The look she gave Miranda made her heart sing.

She drew her other arm out from underneath the child. Stubby fingers stroked over the tips of Naya's headcrests. She spoke in a low, soothing tone. For Jack, that was gravelly.

"Naya, we've come to the garden to meet someone. Can you say who that is?"

Naya just burrowed deeper into Jack.

"You remember, don't you?"

Her headcrests bobbed. She was nodding into Jack's neck.

"Well, don't you want to meet her? I know she wants to meet you."

Frankie had begun to understand just how young Naya was. She stepped forward. "Yeah. I really do. Hi, Naya. I'm Frankie Lawson."

Naya jerked away from Frankie's voice. The older girl looked stung. She instinctively stepped backward into Miranda's space, reached out for her. Miranda whispered into her ear.

Then something caught her eye; Frankie shot away onto the grass. She returned moments later with something cupped carefully in both palms. She glided around the back of Jack's chair and spoke to Naya over her shoulder.

"Hey, Naya. Have you ever seen a butterfly? I've got one. Here, in my hands. You wanna see?"

Naya's head moved slightly. Miranda guessed she had flicked one eye over the parapet because Frankie opened her hands. It was spectacularly patterned, with a lattice of blue and white covering the wings. It sat, flexing slowly on Frankie's palm, before fluttering away. Naya, entranced, raised her head - and then pushed her whole body away from Jack to watch.

Before she could register she had been duped and huddle back into Jack, Frankie had met her eyes. And then stuck her tongue out. Smiled. Frankie then stood back, giving Naya time to process and react.

She giggled.

"There's flowers over there just the same colours as you," Frankie said, pointing. Naya looked at Jack for confirmation. She nodded. "Not far. I can take you if you like."

"We'll stay right here, Naya," Miranda said. "You can come straight back whenever you want. You just take Frankie's hand now, and she'll show you."

Frankie helped Naya hop off Jack's chair. Miranda mouthed '_no flashbangs'_ as the pair walked off. Frankie just rolled her eyes at her.

_Cheeky little bugger._

Jack moved her chair next to Miranda's. They linked hands and sat together in silence for a time, listening to the murmur of the artificial breeze through the boughs above.

"Assuming that isn't an inch thick layer of concealer, I'd say the last of your bruises are gone," said Jack, running her eyes across Miranda's face. She was smiling. "Congratulations."

"Assuming that was a compliment, thanks. I'm no spring chicken. I'll take what I can get." She pecked Jack on the cheek. The girls passed out of earshot.

"Just saying, Miri. That yellow? Looked like piss. On your face."

Miranda leaned, purred delicately into her ear. "Shut up, darling. Before I hack your chair."

Jack's hands flew to the controls. But she was laughing. "Try it, bitch." She kissed Miranda back, near the cheekbone that had been replaced. A new scar shone pinkly along the contour of her eye socket.

Miranda made her voice low, flirtatious. "I'll smear your face into the roof. I'll run you through that bush."

Jack looked like she was about to lower the tone. Miranda kissed her mouth before she could open it, shook her head slightly. In the corner of her eye, she could see Frankie trying to persuade Naya to leave the paved pathway and step onto the grass. It occurred to her that Naya had never experienced grass before. Frankie changed tack; she picked blades of grass, let the younger girl touch them. Then they held hands and jumped. A shriek of delight carried over.

Jack got serious. "So. The docs tell me this is permanent."

She slapped the side of the chair. She looked tiny, almost doll-like in it. It was a decent model but it belonged to the Institute; it was not bespoke. Miranda had already begun to research the best on the market. She would order several, handmade, to Jack's eventual specifications.

Miranda rested her hand on the back of Jack's chair.

"It is. The damage to your legs is too severe. We could culture replacements but we can't reproduce the unique distribution of, and wear on your original eezo nodules. Either your body would reject them or the ampage would fry the rest of your system, damaged as it is."

An absurd image of a disembodied pair of glowing blue legs jumped into her head. Miranda tried to find another way to explain. "The new voltage would never match the rest of your body. Like plugging a million volts into a domestic supply."

"So it's replace all or nothing?"

"Except that replacing all would most likely kill you, yes."

"Right. Well. Never liked that fucking cane anyway." Jack deflated. Miranda's heart sank. She raised her hand, rubbed the downy hair at the nape of Jack's neck.

"There's good news. Nothing else is permanent. They're suppressed now but your biotics are - not intact, but useable." Jack stretched into her touch. "Your neural degeneration hasn't accelerated. Much."

"So you won't be cleaning up after a fucking vegetable just yet?"

"Afraid not."

Jack's gaze roved over to the children. Having overcome her fear of grass, Naya had thrust both hands into a flowerbed and was squelching wet dirt between her hands. Frankie had her hands on her hips, bemused.

"So what's eating you, then?" Jack asked. "Don't bullshit me. I'll know."

Miranda frowned. She tore her gaze away from Jack's face, ashamed. "I'm just - angry. That I couldn't fix you this time."

Jack grabbed her. Her fingers pinched the tops of Miranda's arms.

"For gene-modded perfection, you can sure be a fucking tool sometimes. Let me make myself perfectly clear. I only ever stuck with you for the free healthcare. Now? There's just no point."

Her face fell. "You - what?"

"Asshole." Jack's expression was incredulous. "Get this through your head, woman. I have _never _loved you because you could fix me. The fuck you take me for - some whore? I love you because you're crazy enough of a bitch to try."

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, mumbled. "Always will."

"Didn't catch that."

"Shut up."

A close-lipped smile spread from the corner of her mouth. "You are such an arse sometimes."

"I know. But I'm your asshole. Right?" Now it was Jack's turn to be uncertain. "I mean - even screwed up like this?" But she meant it. The doubt was written across her face.

Miranda did not hesitate. She kissed Jack. Her spine tingled; her eyes shut; Jack's hand looped around her neck. When she drew back, her eyes were wet.

"Do we have an understanding?"

Jack just grinned.

Gagging noises erupted across the atrium. Frankie had clapped both hands over Naya's eyes; she grimaced in mock disgust. She shouted to them.

"Moms. You are being _disgusting."_

Miranda smirked, called back. "Okay, kiddo. No more kissing."

Naya turned and grabbed Frankie's hair with mud-encrusted fingers. She took it in stride, which came as little surprise given Frankie's predilection for muck. The pair stomped off toward a fountain at the far end of the garden. The smaller girl trailed behind, star-struck. Miranda detected a hint of hero-worship developing. _Good._

She took one of Jack's hands in both of her own. Jack's fingers played over her bones and tendons, committing to memory what had been broken, repaired, replaced. The softness of her touch made Miranda's breath catch in her throat.

"I'm a free woman. I confirmed all the arrangements earlier. I'm taking an extended sabbatical from the Institute."

Jack fidgeted. "How long?"

"As long as I want. Or we need."

"I don't want you to do that. We can hire someone for me. Someone to cook. Wipe my ass."

"Do you think Rupert Gardner's available?"

Jack spluttered. The sound was uncouth and wonderful.

"Frankly, I should have done this five years ago. We can go anywhere, do anything you want. Once you're out of here, that is. We've time to consider the options."

Miranda teased Jack's quiff with her fingertips until it stood on end, let them stroke over her ear and trail down the side of her neck.

"You know the first thing I wanna do?" Jack cocked an eyebrow, and Miranda's heart beat faster.

Her voice was sultry. "I think I can hazard a guess."

* * *

The breeze was warm. It played across his face, occasionally throwing locks of his hair into his eyes. He paid them no mind. He rested a glass of elasa on the railing of the terrace and looked out onto the ocean, stretching as far as he could see. Water sloshed and lopped against the struts rising up from the shore under his feet. He could smell the sharp tang of salt spray on the air.

It was approaching dusk, and the water was growing darker, opaque. Beams of pink and gold and scarlet bounced off the surface where the sun sank down to meet the sea. This was no Chascan artifice; this was a true sunset. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Behind him he knew lights would be flickering on across the hilly city. And beyond that, farthest from the sun, the snow-capped mountain country behind Efesia would be veiled in blue-black. Undiscovered country to explore. His life was, once again, an open map, studded with opportunity.

He startled when a bare arm linked with his at the elbow. He turned. A tall, indigo asari had joined him. He fizzed with excitement.

"Hey."

Jeyda flashed a wide smile at him before turning to take in the sunset.

"So, think you'll like it here?"

"No thank you could ever be enough."

Jeyda squeezed his forearm. "I don't care what you did on Chalkos. You can't let a talent like yours go wasting. What Cambaya did to you was damn criminal in my opinion."

"Does she have acolytes?"

Her eyes were following a flying creature of some kind as it tipped scaly wings into the breeze. Bashir had been to Thessia before but made a mental note to ask her what it was called.

"No. Nuran will train you one to one. Here in the city. And she's no lusty maiden. Disciplined. Much too old for you."

He flirted shamelessly. "Like you?"

She scoffed but Bashir caught her blush. Her cheeks turned an even deeper violet. Her laugh was sweet. "What are you - twenty? Forty? Get outta here."

_That wasn't no._

He leaned on the railing, hands clasped together.

"Don't ever feel guilty, Bashir. They want you to live for yourself."

"I know. And I don't."

And there had been tears, but Miranda had practically marched him onto the cruiser after hearing Jeyda's offer. Jack would have butted him aboard like a nanny goat if she had been able to master her new grav chair controls. He had protested but privately, he was glad to be gone. He was a grown man; staying on Chasca meant living in stasis.

And there was one, crucial difference. He always knew they loved him; now he knew they were proud.

_Besides, they promised to visit._

Jeyda had stepped away from him, moving towards the tables at the back of the terrace. The food smelled delicious; his mouth watered. And it was all infused with eezo. She peered back over her shoulder.

"Coming?"

He followed her.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**A/N: **_This chapter, like the rest, is M rated. This chapter is the most M of them all. Please be warned.  
_

* * *

Nothing changed. Everything changed.

Miranda never considered herself to have many duties. Those few she has she has always taken seriously. With her work at the Institute on hold, now she has even fewer. Life is paradoxically simpler despite the outward increase in complexity. This will be her third time navigating the challenges of parenthood. Twenty years ago she would have been selfish, terrified, incapable. There's no question she would have failed. She only succeeded because of Jack. There are many human parents of asari children now, though few will share Naya's emotional issues. But she and Bashir have scaled that particular summit before. Together. Miranda will do the best job she is capable of, until Liara returns. If Liara returns.

Naya T'Soni is a gentle, fearless child. She's clumsy and cheeky, curious and cool. Frankie loves her. She has none of Shepard's DNA but she's inherited so much of her that Miranda sometimes marvels. Watching her play - all her toys are guns - Miranda is occasionally crushed by regret. Shepard should be the one watching her grow up. She comforts herself with the thought that without Lazarus, Naya would not exist. Without Shepard she and Jack would still be strangers. Or worse.

Unsurprisingly, Naya is reserved around people. She is at the beginning of a long process of socialisation. She'll inevitably progress at her own pace. That won't stop them from nudging her along sometimes. For her own good. But for now, their home is a safe space and they cocoon Naya inside, sharing their same small world.

She thinks of Jack. Jack is at base camp of a different mountain. A new face and a much steeper climb. With no work in prospect Miranda preoccupies herself with adapting their home; widening spaces, renovating bathrooms, adding a specialised gymnasium. Jack is angered by her changes even as she begrudgingly accepts their necessity.

She decides to avoid powered chairs in favour of wheels wherever possible. Miranda approves. Reduced mobility and suppressed biotics trigger a radical change in Jack: she obsesses over health for the first time in her life. Moving under her own steam helps. The day will come when a grav chair is inevitable but they'll fight it down to the last yard.

Typically, Jack makes it more difficult for herself than it needs to be. She chooses low slung, high backed chairs optimised for speed and agility, not comfort. Chairs she sits in, rather than on, are out: Jack refuses to look like a cripple. But she moves through familiar rooms uncertainly, as though trapped in a bad dream. Miranda tries to see the chair as a natural extension of Jack. Jack makes this impossible. She doesn't let Miranda touch it - at all. She is brutally ashamed of every knock, every collision, every fall. Miranda doesn't understand why she refuses her help.

Miranda wants to believe the cold shoulder she gets from Jack is a product of embarrassment. But the space between them grows wider each day. Miranda doesn't want to admit there's a problem. There is. The promised intimacy between them never rematerialised. Miranda yearns for it but Jack's placed it out of reach.

Jack spends more of her evenings hiding away in her gym. Miranda decides: that's going to change. Tonight Miranda heads there as soon as Naya and Frankie fall asleep. The room is spacious; one wall is covered with full length mirrors, another lined with a bank of windows looking out toward the relay. It's a beautiful room.

She finds Jack with her ankles strapped to her chair. She's dragged herself up into a semi-standing position, unsteady, fists clenched around hoops suspended from the ceiling. She's training with her own body weight. Veins bulge at her temples and neck; her lips peel back from her teeth. Jack is set on acquiring a gymnast's physique, at least for her upper body. She's well on the way to succeeding. Miranda admires the new strength coiled in Jack's arms. They're the last thing her mind settles on before sleep. But she drops back into the chair as soon as Miranda steps in, glares resentfully.

Miranda forces jollity into her voice. "The ankle biters are down, Jack."

Jack is resting but if anything she reddens further. She rubs sweat out of her eyes. "Jesus, do you never listen? I told you not to come in here."

"I wouldn't if you bothered to answer. I've buzzed three times." She sighs, folds her arms across her chest. She didn't come in to fight.

"Bash sent us some thessia red. It's a good vintage. I thought we could share it. I'd like that."

"Thanks, but no." Jack stretches her arms out above her head.

"You've been in here for hours. You'll injure yourself training like this."

"That's my call."

"You have to allow recovery time, Jack."

Jack glowers. "Why?"

Miranda reaches for Jack. She recoils.

"Don't touch me."

"Why?"

Jack says nothing. She won't meet Miranda's eye.

"Can we talk, Jack?"

"We're talking. What do you want me to say?"

"Whatever you want. I just -" Miranda is confused by Jack's hostility. She moves to touch the back of her chair but Jack jerks away. "Have I done something wrong?"

"Shit. No. Yes. I don't know."

"Please, Jack." A second attempt to touch Jack is rebuffed. Jack's more violent this time. She slaps Miranda's hand away. Miranda's lost. "I want to understand -"

"I'm crippled, Miranda. That's what's fucking wrong," Jack hisses. "I'm trapped in this useless meat sack. And you can't stop treating me like one. You're making it worse."

Miranda pales. That's about the worst possible thing she could have done. "That wasn't my intention."

"Look at this apartment. You've changed everything. Have you ever asked me what I wanted? Or even what I needed?"

"I'm sorry." Miranda realises the weight of her mistake. "I only meant -"

Jack sneers. "Just take your good intentions and - piss off. I don't need your pity. Leave me alone."

Miranda squares her shoulders. "No."

Jack knows she can't make her go. She yells. She's so angry she flares, despite the suppressants. She flings the unshed energy away in a surge of blue; and the bank of mirrors cracks, shatters.

Miranda turns on her heel, stalks out of the room.

_When she's scared, she picks fights. _

Miranda resolves to force the issue.

* * *

_Their bedroom is dark. It's late. Jack's arms burn. Heat rises from her torso in waves. Sweat glistens in the hollow of her collarbone and the dips between her muscles. She looks meaner, defined. It's a pity that appearances deceive. She's an invalid. _

_Jack needs to shower; can't wheel across the floor without light. Shit. She flicks the dimmer switch on low. Contours of familiar obstructions jump into life. _

_Miranda isn't sleeping. She is lying in wait, prim, on the edge of a chair. Jack stops dead. _

_Her long legs are crossed at the ankle; knees pressed tight together. Breasts push at the fabric of her nightgown, glossy folds reflecting the soft glow of the room. _

_Their eyes meet. _

_A shiver shoots down Jack's spine, sparks at the tips of her fingers. Miranda sinks back, slow. Coy. She hooks a knee over one arm of her chair, half-smiles as she begins to stroke tight circles across the other. _

_Her nightgown lifts. Its just enough for Jack to glimpse the neatly trimmed triangle underneath. _

_Holy fuck._

_Miranda knows Jack has seen. She calculates, takes a risk. Her hand delves between her legs._

_Miranda is touching herself. _

_Her eyes lock onto Jack's with predatory intensity; everything else disappears. Jack almost moans. She's paralysed. She'll kill her for teasing this way._

_Jack knows Miranda has needs. So does she. Her eyes are roaming all over Jack, feverish. She won't agree to a pity-fuck._

_Jack clenches her fists together until they bleed white. Miranda's nipples stiffen under her nightdress. Her fingers quicken and Jack's getting hot watching, doesn't want to. Miranda bites her lower lip, inhales sharply. Her hips flex forward, inviting. Jack sees pink; her mouth falls open. She inches closer, despite herself. _

_Miranda raises her free hand, waves her index finger: left-right-left. Jack opens her mouth; Miranda places the finger against her lips. _She smiles. _Jack's cheeks heat. She's frustrated. Her hand slips beneath her own waistband. Miranda smirks, shakes her her head no._

_Jack doesn't understand what this show is for - until Miranda begs._

_I need to come with you inside me, Jack. _

_Jack's body floods with arousal; her mind cowers with fear. She's being ripped in two. But she's never been a coward. _

_She starts forward. Miranda's eyes narrow, flick to the bed. _

_Quid pro quo, Jack._

_Miranda drives a hard bargain. If she fucks she must consent to be fucked. Jack can't agree those terms. Miranda's lips part in a slow sigh; she pushes a finger inside herself to the second knuckle, retreats. Watches Jack's pained reaction. That's reserved for Jack._

_It's not that she doesn't want to. She can't. She's trapped in a body that no longer obeys. Jack's skin prickles. She's approaching panic. Rejecting Miranda now could put their relationship beyond repair. Jack searches for any sign of pity on Miranda's face, finds none. Her eyes blur with unshed tears. She blinks them away, angry._

_Miranda is close. Eyes cling to Jack, won't leave her. She flares. The tempo of her hips changes. Her neck and chest flush. Her moan is plaintive. Please. _Please_, Jack._

_Jack shifts in the spotlight of Miranda's gaze and she realises: she isn't the audience here. _

_She's the star._

_Joy shines in Miranda's face as she closes the distance between them. But Jack winces. She doesn't want to be lifted and deposited on the bed. _

_Miranda doesn't do that. She leaps onto Jack, straddling her, scattering kisses in her hair, across her forehead. She pulls Jack into a deep, soft, hungry kiss. Jack's alive: she floods with heat as Miranda wraps her legs around her hips, crushing their bodies together. Her hands caress Jack's biceps and chest through her vest. No time to take it off._

_The kiss Miranda drops onto her wrist is urgent. She sucks the sweat from two of Jack's fingers. Jack squeezes Miranda's bare ass tight, holds her steady as Jack slots her hand into the space between her legs. Miranda cries out as she corkscrews down onto Jack. She's so wet she takes all Jack's fingers at once. _

_Miranda flings her nightdress over her head. She fucks Jack with abandon, centre grinding into Jack's open palm. Her hair falls over both their faces, tickling Jack. They laugh together. The chair rocks backward with every jerk of Miranda's hips. They both grin as she gropes behind them for the lock. Jack can't; she has her hands full._

_Jack puts her back into it. Her arm muscles flex and ripple as she thrusts into Miranda, relentless, fingers working inside her. _

_Enhanced upper body strength has unique perks. _

_Jack kisses her rough, tongues her breasts. Miranda times her own rocking to multiply the force. This is the harshest Miranda's ever been fucked. _

_Miranda's getting off on her, the possibilities of her changed body. She's digging her nails into the bicep driving into her. Nothing has ever been so liberating. _

_Her entire body trembles as she comes into Jack's hand, breathing ragged, lips crushed to Jack's._

_Jack wraps her arms around Miranda as she collapses down into her lap, rubs her back. Their breaths fall into rhythm. It's a while before she looks up. Jack kisses her possessively when she does. _

_This love's still solid. _

_Eventually, Miranda peels herself off Jack's lap, sways unsteadily towards their bed. She curls up at the top, strokes the space in front expectantly. _

_Jack's there like a shot, dirty grin smeared across her face. Miranda's eyes gleam as her tongue traces across the swarm of Jack's tattoos, drifting steadily downward. _

* * *

Jack was woken by the buzzing of her omnitool against her wrist. A message. Encrypted. Blinking, she raised her forearm above her head and opened it with stiff fingers.

_LAWSON, ZERO: UPDATE FROM OMEGA. WILL OPEN QEC CHANNEL AT 0800 TO BRIEF._

Vega's signature, obviously sent in haste. Clever boy had addressed it to both of them this time. You could teach an old dog new tricks.

Miranda shrank away, rolled, and then pitched back into sleep. Jack wasn't surprised. 0800 was hours away. Pointless to wake her now.

Jack slept lighter these days.

She pivoted, holding her body upright off the bed on two fists. She was pissed at being awake and worse, she could feel her quads swelling, splitting. She had forgotten her meds. Fucking stupid. Anger settled across her shoulders, turning them to concrete as she swung out onto her chair. Jack's spine popped and her body protested, but she managed with only a grunt and one or two squeaks from the seat as she shifted.

There was a time that move would have woken Miranda, but Jack was improving. She shivered with pride.

_What a fucking joke._

Face haloed by the light from her omni, Jack inched her way forward until her treads ran onto tile. She closed the door, flicked the light on. She ignored her reflection in the mirror, keyed the code to her med cabinet, and swore under her breath as she shook out different ampoules.

Jack could live with the raw ache in her arms. The self inflicted damage to her muscles was a promise to herself; they would heal stronger than before. The tiny knots of hot acid studded through her legs were different. They spilled streaks of bright agony into her veins. The fuckers burned like ground glass when they died, each spent nodule fossilized, marking damage beyond repair. That pain was much harder to live with.

Her hands shook as she loaded two fresh hypos. The dull smouldering in her legs was threatening to spark and ignite, and if that happened now she would howl like an animal. Miranda would come running and in the state she was in, Jack would lash out; her patience with Miranda's cosseting was eggshell-thin as it was. Jack didn't want that. She didn't want to fuck anything else up.

The suppressant went into her thighs; the painkiller into her neck. Both steeped into her veins like cool water. Jack groaned with relief. The combination would make her queasy, wired but it sure as hell beat the alternative. Not like she could try to sleep now, anyway.

She returned the rest of the ampoules to the cabinet. Her heart skipped before she recognised what she saw. She swept the contents of the shelf aside, gripped the packet with both hands. Jack's old meds were nestled behind a clutch of new boxes and blisterpacks. Her stomach turned somersaults. That shit was pride and power and passion; they sang sweetly to Jack as she cradled them in her lap.

Jack clutched her head in her hands, raked her nails across her scalp until they broke skin. The price of admission was too fucking high. She knew it. Last time it was her legs. It was nearly her life. Jack knew next time would kill her. Fucking poison.

A familiar, unearthly voice whispered into her ear. Do you care, Jack? Her throat knotted. She couldn't answer. Did she care? A large part of her wanted to say no.

Before she could think she smashed the ampoules open, flushed them away.

Then she spun from the room as if chased by a ghost.

Jack stopped in the passage linking their bedroom with the living area, heart scudding in her chest and arms clenched tight. The rims were cool along her palms. She steadied herself with long, even corridor was filled with wan, silent starlight, bright enough to see by. Jack cast a dark shadow as she made a slow traverse. The chair made no sound.

She would talk to the Academy. If Miranda thought Jack's retirement would be filled with cocktail hours, dinner parties and Skyllian Five she could fuck off. If they wouldn't take her on as a consultant - and with Miranda unofficial queen of the station they'd likely be too fucking pussy to defy her - she'd go freelance. Become a contractor. She might be a cripple, but she wouldn't be a sponge. No damn way.

Jack stopped when she reached the girls' room. The door was open. Datapads were strewn at the foot of the two beds. Naya slept curled into a ball on the closest, thumb in her mouth. Jack often came past this door to find Frankie fast asleep and Naya, curled protectively into her blankets, peering out at the stars visible in the passageway. Small and innocent. Tonight she clutched something tight, glinting in her fist.

_How the hell did she get Shepard's tags?_

Had to be Frankie. She'd talk to her. Jack didn't want to take them from her but Naya was too young to keep them. Not yet. She prized them from the child's fingers. The clinked together as they slipped from her hand. Naya stirred but Jack soothed; she just hitched her breath and burrowed tighter into the bed. Jack grazed a hand over her forehead before returning the way she had come. She turned right, steered onto Miranda's oversized new ramp, and glided down a floor.

_There's no reason I'm alive. But I am._

In the depths of the night cycle, the living area was dark but bathed in milky, pale glow. Jack picked her way across the floor. The ache in her limbs was now only a distant pain. Ahead of her, by the couches, Jack saw the wine, opened, and two glasses. Red residue pooled in the bottom of one. Jack filled the other and balanced it precariously in her lap while she moved, stem tucked between her thighs. She took it to the window and looked out onto the spatter of a million solitary stars.

Jack thought of Liara. They had respected each other but they had never been close. Funny, really. She had been in a chair when Liara had invaded, called her out on her bullshit and changed her fate. Jack was relieved to settle that debt. It was somehow fitting that Jack was in a chair again now. Today they'd know who owned these tags. For Naya's sake Jack hoped Vega had good news. Even so she suspected Liara would be too batshit crazy to take Naya back. At least short term.

_Crazy bitch got to believing her own hype._

Jack sipped the wine. She regretted not joining Miranda earlier.

Without Liara's intervention, things would have been different. More fighting. Fewer strings. She and Miranda might finally have killed each other. That life struck Jack now as sterile. Alien. As impossible as breathing without air.

She relaxed into the chair, holding Shepard's tags loosely in one palm. They reflected silver-white light. They drew her gaze away from the starscape ahead, held her transfixed.

Shepard's life had been a meteor - bright, clean, sharp. Simple. Until the Pulse Jack had expected that fate to be hers. A part of Jack still wanted that. Not the messy, painful bullshit she was left behind to cope with. Misery began to unfurl, cool and comforting, across Jack's chest. She found herself wanting to cover herself with it. To forget everything else. She closed her eyes.

Time bled away.

Jack gradually became aware of being watched. Cold gusted across the room, as though a door had been thrown open. Hairs stood up at the nape of her neck, along her arms.

She froze.

Her eyes were still unfocused but at the edge of her vision, reflected in the glass in front, Jack made out a shadow looming at her back. A force. She knew if she looked straight at it the form would disappear, like the faces that appeared in the stars, or in the clouds on a clear day.

She was no more real than her hidey hole, no longer womb-red but a blue-white space she had to endure being ripped apart, over and over in her dreams. But that didn't stop Jack holding her breath.

_Hey, Shepard. _

She leaned back on her heels, silent, arms crossed in that unmistakable, sceptical way that had always pissed Jack off. Standing there she looked real enough to touch. Jack bit the side of her cheek to stop herself from sobbing. She forced herself to keep her eyes cast downward.

_I'm so damn sick. So damn tired, Shepard._

Shepard was motionless. She was the woman Jack first met, not the husk she became before she was killed. The first to really figure Jack out. The first to try. The first to want to. She could feel her gaze resting on the back of her neck, exposing her heart.

The unvoiced terror always at her core that if she became a burden, she would find herself alone.

Shepard cocked her jaw, as if waiting for an answer to a question Jack did not know she had been asked.

_Stay. Or go._

Shepard was the Big Bang that stopped the clocks and started them again. Part of the past. The slow smile Miranda wore for her tonight filled Jack's mind.

Shepard was the cause. Liara was the catalyst. Miranda was the reason.

Jack had her answer.

_Get your shit together, asshole. Pity party's over.  
_

To Jack's surprise, Shepard smiled. Jack grinned back, snapped around.

Nobody there.

_Fuck off, Shepard. I've got nothing to say to you._

She looped the tags around her neck and against her skin, drained the wine. The next time they met, Jack would greet her as an old friend. That would be soon.

But not tonight.

* * *

**End of Part One**

_To be continued..._

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_That's the end of Jack and Miranda's part of the story. But Liara's still out there. Will Ashley rescue her, or die trying? What will Tali and Traynor uncover about the Darkness that Must Not Be Breached? And what will Vega find on Tuchanka? _

_All will be revealed in Part Two - Sinchi: Downfall. _

_(Breitve, Kasumi will make an appearance, thanks to you.)_

_So - first I would like to thank everyone for sticking with this story (especially given its slow buildup). It's a major suspension of disbelief to accept MiriJack as something remotely functional but I wanted to see if I could make it real. And also finishing something because I am terrible at follow through. I can only hope people enjoyed reading it half as much as I have enjoyed writing it. It has been an incredible challenge and incredibl_y _rewarding_.

_Thanks also for all the reviews and the kind messages that people have sent my way. It really is fantastic to hear when people are enjoying something!_ _(And also, sometimes, when they're not.)_

_I should also acknowledge the deep influence that works by fantastic writers like the subverter, Owelpost and Midnight Lion have had on this whole story - firstly, for inspiring me to write; and secondly, for continuously coming out with awesome writing and characterisation that mades my jaw drop. Seriously, if visitors are not already familiar with the Loyalist & Convict stories, Glacial Fire, Pressure (or, on that score, Once More Unto The Breach by HugoCogs or Control that Which You Cannot Destroy by Jay8008) then go! - check them out! - you will have your socks blown off. _

_And finally. HugoCogs, consummate storyteller and generally amazing person - thank you.  
_


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